


Something's Missing

by fallenxstarr



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Amnesia AU, Angst, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Wayward Son Compliant, Post-Canon, Road Trip, Secrets, Trust Issues, bodyguard vibes, internal struggles, slow burn lovers back to lovers, travel AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 119,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenxstarr/pseuds/fallenxstarr
Summary: When Simon saves the world from The Humdrum, he gets rid of more than just his magick- his memories are gone too. When he wakes up from his coma with no knowledge of the time he spent in the World of Mages he's meant to live as a Normal, with no contact from any mages. But Penny and Baz aren't about to let him go again, whether or not he remembers them. And if there's a way to remind him, or get his magick back... well, long shot or not, isn't it worth a try? And, really, it's just a few more lies.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 50
Kudos: 122





	1. Penny Explains It All

**Author's Note:**

> [If you're interested in my playlist for this fic.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ZJ48OluAZL8lYP9wDmZDn?si=7CU4KG4OTC6O9--_Zk2uKw)   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for giving this au a try! And if you follow me on tumblr, thanks for letting me whinge on about it 24/7!
> 
> This fic is going to be about 80k and/or 20 chapters, and I'll be updating once a week (you get a 2 for 1 this time) <3

Nothing is ever going to go back to normal again. 

That was the first thing I thought when Simon destroyed The Humdrum, and killed The Mage. The last thing I thought before I passed out. 

All before The Humdrum attacking was sort of like a dangerous daydream. It happened, and it was usually pretty bad, but you always came out the other end. Simon would kill something and save the day with his sword or his magick, I would save the day with a brilliant plan, and then everything would be sour cherry scones and hanging out on the grounds or waiting to see Simon again. There was always a before, and an after, and, I have to admit, I always knew one day the after really _would_ be an “after”. An ending. I guess I expected, deep down, Simon not making it out to laugh over tea again or sneak out to fight goblins. But I didn’t think past that point, the point of that line actually existing. And I never thought that it would look like this- like Simon in a hospital bed, and no plan in sight to save any of us. 

There was a trial to figure out what to do with us, when everything was over. Well, really to figure out what to do with Baz and I, and _really_ just to figure out what to do with _me_. What to do with Baz has been settled for ages among his own people- family and allies alike- and I think the biggest question is just whether it’ll be a surprise party or a regular one. I mean, he did technically kill The Mage (depending on who you ask. If you’re not asking _me_ ) which has been his not-so-secret mission for years. Nobody’s mad about that. 

It’s not that everybody in the Coven is a huge fan of Baz and his lot or happy to see The Mage gone. It’s just that no one is really out for blood- which is a bit of a shock, really, when you look at the way things have been for the past two decades. The big change comes down to the fact that it’s been war times and now it finally isn’t, and I think everyone’s entirely too relieved that we’re past that now to push it. Plus, everyone’s too busy with bigger priorities to wallow in resentment or old party lines. When you let go of all that and look at the big picture it’s much harder to forget that you’re incapable of being all that different from the rest of the people who went to the same school you did and knows everybody that you know. 

In fact, that’s how Baz and I got to be friends in the first place- similarities and a good bonding together instead of against. (And we are, friends. Nick and Slicks, imagine telling younger Penny that, she’d never believe it. Imagine telling Simon.... any of this, really.) 

(I take that back, don’t tell young Simon a thing. He’s got enough to deal with without adding any more puzzles to solve.) 

Anyway, in the end it was more or less simple- for them at least. It was deemed that none of us were _trying_ to kill The Mage (in that exact moment) and since technically we all played a part in a, mind you, attack of _self defense_ we weren’t charged with anything. Thank Magick for that. I think my mother might have actually disowned me if they’d have taken my ring. 

It was Simon that made things more difficult, just by existing. Poor Simon, that was usually the way things went with him anyway. 

Things were pretty brutal before they became completely and totally insane, with Simon doing whatever it was he was doing to The Humdrum and that horrible feeling in the air- like the static suck that dry spots usually had but somehow more like... clammy hands. Something that was leaving residue behind. Marking, or being marked. Simon looked like death even before we all collapsed. His eyes were all sunken and huge, and he looked like he might never catch his breath again. 

When I woke up and he was still lying there I really did think maybe he, well, you know. It was a possibility. And not am improbable one either. I think mum thought we had _all_ snuffed it, from the way she kept touching me like she thought I might be a ghost. Mainly I was trying to swat her away, because she was was holding me away from Simon who was still laying there, pale, and dirty, and possibly not breathing. Baz got to him first. Probably because no one was attempting to hold on to _him_ like he was a loose kite. 

I can still remember the way he crumpled onto Simon’s chest. I swear I think my heart stopped when he did it. I only breathed again when I saw the relief on his face. 

It was fairly short lived. 

To be completely honest, Simon being alive at all was genuinely a miracle. And for me that was enough, for a while. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t wake up- I’d seen the amount of magick pouring out of him, and it would have taken it out of me too. I wasn’t even too bothered about them putting him in the hospital for a few days. But for Baz it was like everything bad he’d ever been expecting had finally come to roost. 

I can’t exactly say he was wrong. I mean, obviously I’m glad Simon isn’t dead. But. Well, sometimes it’s hard to feel like he _isn’t_. 

He’s been in the hospital for a few months now, and nobody wants to say anything to me out loud but I think everyone’s given up hope of him waking up at all. And I swear in Merlin’s name that nobody else really _cares_. Simon did his part. He saved the World of Magick (after putting it in danger in the first place, if we’re getting into the details). He was chosen, and he succeeded. To them, his story is over. And, if he does- _when_ he does wake up, it won’t exactly be to a welcoming committee. 

Agatha’s dad is taking care of Simon for the most part, but a few other specialists of something or another have found their way in as well. One of them can sense exactly how much magick someone has. Nobody really wanted to be around him, either. Like they thought he was going to take one look at them and turn up his nose, or announce their percentage like he’d been reading their diaries. 

The reason he came in in the first place was because about a week after it all happened Dr. Wellbelove mentioned something about being concerned about Simon’s reactions. Reactive magick is the easiest because it’s basically all instinct, like you go on autopilot. It happens a lot in kids, or in near death situations. Reactive magick is half the reason the Coven let us off without any punishment at all. Apparently, though, you see reactive magick a lot in coma cases too. It’s something about what kind of state their mind is in. For example, a parent who always spells their son’s breakfast warm might wind up casting a **Some like it hot** even though they’re asleep. Or, someone who has just been in a fight for their life will most likely find themselves reliving it and wind up recasting a spell or two. 

Apparently Dr. Wellbelove was pretty worried about that bit. I would have been too, if I’d had any idea it could happen. (In my defence I didn’t really have much experience with comas before this). I mean, Simon is as powerful as they come- more powerful, actually. He did things that no one should have been able to do. Doing even a mild version of any of those spells could have been catastrophic, and, obviously, fairly noticeable. So the Specialist got the call when Simon didn’t blow anything up. Probably the only time him _not_ blowing up had caused any trouble. 

Long story short, the Specialist couldn’t tell us anything. Anything that made sense at least. Mum said he was just a con man, trying to swindle money from the Coven, and couldn’t do a thing, so we shouldn’t put any stock in a thing he said. Put up a pretty good defence for it too. Because he said Simon had nothing to sense at all. Not even a spare drop of magick. 

I didn’t believe it either, obviously. Things were split for a few days there, until the Coven decided on a few tests. I don’t know the exact details, because mum never said anything too specific when I was in earshot (I’ve been trying not to think about what that means). Anyway, the end result, however they got it, was that Simon’s magick was really and truly gone. For good, is the assumption. 

So then came the judgement of exactly what to do with him. Mum kept me out of the conversation the best she could but I still heard enough to rage against them anytime a Coven member even passed me by. They said some pretty awful things. There were a few good ones too- suggestions like a care package with housing and some money to get him on his feet, someone else suggested passing down all The Mage’s things to him since he was technically his adopted son- but in the end the fact of Simon’s missing magick was the biggest obstacle. 

Really, Dr. Wellbelove’s ‘bad news’ saved them all a lot of grief. 

A few weeks ago, back in April, they got new results back from his scans. I don’t follow the medical talk well enough to repeat it verbatim, but the gist of it was that something is wrong with Simon’s brain. Not terribly wrong, Dr. Wellbelove assured us, very minor damage. Small enough to miss the first few times around. It just meant that he’d have memory loss. Unsure exactly how much. Unsure if it was temporary or not. The nervous look on his face made me feel like he was holding out, though. Softening the blow. 

The Coven gave their decision not even 24 hours later. If Simon woke up and he didn’t remember his life here, then he didn’t _have_ a life here. He was a Normal now- wings and tail excluded- and he would live a Normal life. They’d set him up, but that was it. No further contact. And definitely no information on our world. 

No one seemed to know exactly what was going to happen if he woke up any differently than that. No one seemed worried about it either, except me and Baz. 

He went into surgery about a week ago. It took a lot of talk, but eventually it was agreed that even if Simon _did_ wake up himself, he hardly needed wings or that devil tail he’d managed to sprout. I can’t say I’m said to see it gone, but I’m not happy either. It’s not like the first time, when I was desperate to have them disappear and for us to escape and get some help. Now help isn’t exactly helping, and escape is off the itinerary for the moment. Anyway, I’m used to them now. You can get used to basically anything. 

I’m even used to seeing Simon in his hospital bed, even if I don’t want to be. Sometimes it shocks me- I’ll look up at him and it’ll be like I just woke up or a spell wore off and everything feels real and permanent and dreadful. But mostly I just sit with him. I think about him waking up. I try not to bite off my tongue thinking about him waking up without enough memories. 

I did my best to fight against it, Aleister Crowley, no one can say I didn’t try. Baz was a force to be reckoned with too, but in a posh, put together way. He’s good at playing the game, probably because he was raised to play it. He was nearly a match for my mum, to be quite frank. And she really didn’t like that. 

She didn’t like any of it, really. Not Simon’s condition (of course) or the Coven’s gleeful willingness to wash their hands of him, but she really didn’t like Baz meeting her head to head. Maybe part of it was him being a teenager, but I think mostly she just doesn’t like the Pitches and never will, no matter how many times I tell her Baz is alright. She still would have voted in favor of it, labeling Simon a Normal, but I think Baz made her less willing to change her position on it, like he was challenging her. I’d never tell him, of course. But I think he knows anyway. 

He’s different lately. We all are, things are too strange and unprecedented for us all _not_ to be changing too, but where everyone else is floating around ready to get carried in by the tide of revolution or whatnot Baz is adrift. Everytime I see him I’m struck by how weighed down he looks, like he’s fighting against a **Stay put**. 

I see him every few days, sometimes every single, when we’re both having a bad time, or just not keeping track of time the way we’re supposed to. We spent the whole first month of Simon’s coma sitting vigil together, barely leaving, sometimes not saying more than a few words to each other the entire day. We were like weary soldiers in arms. No. Not soldiers. Like kids. Just two exhausted, worried kids. 

And we never had to hide the fact that we were crying, because the other person would pretend not to notice. And we never asked each other if we were okay. We were both sick to death of that. The answer was always no, and all you had to do was look at us to know that. It just made other people feel better when they got you to say “yeah, I’m doing fine” and they didn’t really care if it was the answer. They didn’t actually care that you loved him. 

That’s one thing we did talk about. 

It was pretty obvious that Baz was in love. I caught on when he was holding on to Simon, before everything got to be too much and we all lost consciousness one by one, and it was pretty clear, even with all the horror and the tears and Simon’s blood red wings that Simon was in love with him too. Honestly, I have no idea how I didn’t see it before. It’s so obvious! I wish I could hit younger Penny on the back of the head for being such a dolt. I want to hit young Simon too, for wasting my time and not just snogging Baz years ago. 

“So,” I’d said to him, way back when all this started. We were sitting next to each other, Baz closest to Simon’s head for once, me pushed down to the second chair, and he was staring at his face like his heart was bleeding. “are we going to talk about your relationship?” 

“What?” And if Baz hadn’t been so tired, so completely worn out by our new world, he might have jumped up or started trying to deny it. Instead he just shook his head and kept looking at Simon. 

“Come on, Baz.” 

“Leave me alone, Bunce.” 

“I can’t even stop touching you,” I pointed out, jiggling my shoulder against his arm just to prove my point. “how am I supposed to leave you alone?” 

He just made an annoyed noise. After a long time he asked, “How did you know?” 

“You’re not subtle.” 

He shot me a look, finally tearing his gaze away from Simon’s impassive face. 

“You can’t keep away from each other,” I began listing out the thoughts I’d only just put together. “you can’t stop touching each other, Simon has been obsessed with you for 8 years, you obviously need him looking at you every second of the day, he was wearing your clothes a few weeks ago-” 

“That was because he idiotically ran to my house,” Baz cut me off, but the usual fire behind the insult was notably absent. He sighed. “You must have figured it out before Simon did.” 

“That depends,” I said carefully. “ _Did_ he figure it out?” 

Baz shot me another look. “Yes, Bunce. Crowley, I wasn’t trying to force myself on him.” 

I threw up my hands defensively. “I wasn’t-” 

“He...” Baz made an expression that made me think he would have been flushed if he had enough blood to manage it. He tried again, slower, voice a little less annoyed, a little more awkward. “He, um... ‘figured it out’ a few weeks ago. But we weren’t,” He looked as if he was second guessing something. “We weren’t together.” 

“Oh come on,” I said. 

Baz shook his head. “It was never like that.” 

“Please stop lying to me.” I sat up, arms crossed. “You are literally the only person I can talk to right now without wanting to cast something awful, and honestly you’re walking a fine line at the moment. Don’t lie to me about my best friend.” 

“How do you know I’m lying?” Baz said, then backed down when he realized _I_ wasn’t going to. He let out a semi-exasperated breath. “I don’t know what we were. We didn’t have time to talk about it. We were a little preoccupied with my _mother’s ghost_ and _The Humdrum_ if you don’t remember.” He frowned. “But he asked me to. Uh. He asked to be my boyfriend on Christmas Eve.” 

“Snakes alive that’s not long at all,” I gaped. 

Simon had spent longer in the hospital than he had being in an actual relationship with Baz. No wonder Baz looked so miserable. Well, other than everything else that was downright miserable. 

“No,” Baz agreed. “it isn’t.” 

“You’re good for each other,” I decided. And I meant it. 

“I’m fairly certain that all of our past experiences prove the exact opposite, Bunce,” He drawled. 

“Who cares about the past anyway?” 

I swear, he almost smiled. 

“I didn’t know before Simon,” I admitted. “I should have. But I was preoccupied with, you know, your mother’s ghost and The Humdrum.” I leaned back again, eyes on Simon. “I didn’t actually know until it all happened, after Simon, well.” 

This time Baz definitely smiled. 

“Good.” 

“What?” 

“That means Simon’s not as dense as I thought he was.” 

I frowned at him. 

“And,” He tilted his head towards me, smiling with his fangs showing. “I’m more subtle than you thought I was.” 

It really does feel ridiculous that I ever thought Simon and Baz were going to kill each other. Not with the way Baz watches him, talks to him when he thinks he’s got the room to himself, or how he always shows up perfectly on time to make sure someone’s there with him. 

I know Baz’s profile better than I know his face at this point. Sitting shoulder to shoulder the times we wind up together, it’s like we’ve been doing this forever. And we would, too. It’s a promise between us, mostly unspoken. Even if takes forever- it won’t, but if it did- we’re here. Neither one of us is willing to leave Simon. In his bed, or in the streets of London where everyone’s waiting to dump him. 

He’ll have us. No matter what. 


	2. Baz's Distractions

Father isn’t happy. I could say that at any point of any day lately and it would be true. He was fairly chuffed at first, when he realized The Mage was dead and The Chosen One wasn’t going to be a nuisance anymore, and once he knew for sure I wasn’t more dead than usual and hadn’t managed to ruin everything by biting anyone. For a few days I could have done practically anything and he would have been fine. We could have been in the middle of the next great flood and he would have just told the children to put their wellies on and been on his way. 

But I ruined his good mood early on. If there are two things he didn’t want to hear about, besides improper farming techniques, it was anything involving The Mage that didn’t damn him- that, of course, also includes Simon Snow- and anything about me being queer. 

It isn’t like I told him any specifics, I’m not fool enough to call over my shoulder “I’m going out to visit my boyfriend in the hospital, you know, the one you’ve been trying to arrange the death of for eight years?” as I leave the house. But he’s not stupid, and I haven’t exactly been put together enough to put much effort into hiding anything. I never even tried to lie about where I was going. Honestly I think after first he was hoping I was planning on poisoning Snow or pulling the plug when no one was looking. 

He’s not the only one, either, though he gave up on the idea far later than the rest of the lot. Bunce likes to say that the Magickal World is finally unified (not that that’s always a good thing), but it’s not, really. Don’t get me wrong, it’s certainly better than it was before, but a lot of people were far less happy about The War being over and done with no fanfare. There’s still plenty of infighting, and backstabbing. I don’t know what The Families expect of me- I don’t care either- but clearly it’s something. I think a few of them wanted me groomed to join The Coven. The last thing I’d want. I don’t know what I want (that’s impossible to give any realistic thought to, since it would mean looking past my present and imagining a time where I would want _anything_ besides the impossible) but it isn’t that. 

Luckily, it took awhile for us to talk about it, the dragon winged elephant unfortunately not actually in the room. We still haven’t really, if you want to be technical. But after about a month of him looking at me odd and closing door and cabinets a bit too aggressively he finally couldn’t stop himself from saying something. We were alone in the kitchen by some cruel twist of fate, and I suppose he just took the opportunity given. 

Having sensed something coming that I didn’t want to deal with, I tried to leave as quickly as possible. I nearly died choking on a biscuit I was rushing so much. All for nothing. 

“Basilton,” He’d said, like he was about to ask a very important, very difficult question. “what are you doing?” 

“I’m going out,” I think I answered, stupidly. 

“What... What are you doing with that boy?” He asked, and he sounded like he was pleading with me. He never called Simon by his name, first or last. I think spending so much time plotting against him (Simon’s word, not ours, but really he wasn’t wrong) made it near impossible for him to see him as anything but a chess piece. 

I don’t think I answered. I was worse at remembering to talk at that point. It felt like nothing important was going on anywhere but in my brain, or in a hospital bed. What was the point of pretending otherwise? Why play the game of acting like eating or sleeping or conversation actually mattered? 

“Basilton,” He said again, and I’m not sure whether he was trying to get my attention or if he just needed something to say. He stared at me for a few long, uncomfortable moments before he shook his head, like I’d given a greaviously incorrect answer and we’d all suffer for it. “Why?” 

It was a stupid question. I wasn’t even sure what he was questioning- Why him? Why are you gay? Why are you still acting like he’s going to wake up? 

I didn’t have an answer for any of them. 

No, I did. They all have the same the answer, and it’s that I can’t help it. I don’t get a choice, it’s this or nothing. This, or I can’t survive. 

“I have to go.” And I’d walked out, taking the exact same route I’d taken every day before. By the time I got to the hospital, I remember that I half believed Simon would be sitting up waiting for me. Sitting there with his hand in his hair, looking sleepy and relieved to see me, and that he’d look up at me and say something like _, “There you are.” “I’m starving.” “I missed you.”_. It hurt more than it should have, when the only person awake in his room was Bunce. 

I know it isn’t my father’s fault, but I blame him anyway, a bit. 

Anyway. Not exactly a heart to heart. Not that we did much of those, or any really. Father isn’t a cold man or a cruel one, but he’s also not exactly the, well, fathering type. The mentor type, when you’re in the right situation. The lawyer, the few times I’ve needed an advocate and couldn’t simply do it myself. But we were never going to be close, in the way that some people seemed to manage with their fathers. 

Since the talk that never really became a talk, his determined silence on the matter and on my existence at large, had gotten louder. He wasn’t a man who stomped, but he somehow made a dignified walk feel the same as if he were. 

It was still early, too early to go see Simon if I wanted to keep time (I’m not entirely sure how Bunce and I fell into shifts, but I’m not complaining about it. It’s nice to know when I can just be alone with him. And, I’ll be honest, it can be nice to know where to find Bunce too.), but after spending the better part of the day fighting the urge to do it anyway, I was too tired to keep resisting. I tended to show up around dinner time, which saved me from family dinner and got Bunce home to her’s (if you can call what they do a family dinner. I’m certain it doesn’t count if you’re nearly all in separate rooms. Bunce has told me about it, and it seems an awful affair. Though easier to deal with than my own, so hats off to them). 

I pushed my way down the stairs, head down like I had gotten into the habit of keeping it. My father closed the silverware drawer as I touched down on the last step, and I heard steak knives and soup spoons alike jump. I made the stupid decision to look up at him, Merlin knows why, and he was already looking at me. Sometimes his expression is obviously disappointment, sometimes it’s confused, as if he were losing time, had arrived in this spot due to unseen forces, and was waiting for me to clear up exactly what had happened. 

Today his expression was a wall. Not just unreadable, but blank, as if he weren’t really in his body at all. I stared at him, starting to worry a bit as it drug out. 

And then he blinked, and the corner of his mouth turned down and his expression began to resolve into something less robotic. I turned away before I could see which direction it went. I had a feeling, irrational but impossible to fight, that if I didn’t leave the house that second I wasn’t going to leave it at all. The windows would be barred. I’d open the door and find he’d spelled us to Antartica somehow. 

I took in a deep breath and tried to get my head on right. The problem with it being June and having a father that both wanted to argue and wanted to ignore you, and having a boyfriend who was in a seemingly endless coma, was that you started to feel a bit like you were going mad. 

The only thing that had been worse, was having all of that in the middle of the winter. January was so hellish I can barely remember any actual specifics, beyond the obvious. Do you know how when things are too bad, or there’s too much going on, everything starts to run together in a gigantic mess? That was January. And most of the rest of the season too, though I think I managed to put together a fairly good front for the Coven and even my family when I needed to. Appearances are everything, after all. And honestly I’ve spent so much of my life training to be eloquent and distant that I didn’t even have to think much when the Coven called me in. Even arguing- civilly of course- was second nature, and I did a lot of that when matters became tragically clear. 

At least it’s warm now. It’s not much, but it’s a little harder to feel claustrophobic when you’re surrounded by things flowering. 

I stopped in the patch of grass and shrubbery some people called a park near to my house, to gather myself. The sun was warm, which stung a little, but not enough to make me dive into the shade. The good thing about it being June is that it’s finally nice out. Which means my visits to Simon won’t involve me getting buried in snow or pelted by the occasional barrage of hail. It had barely even rained so far, which was a blessed change from what had been a truly disgusting April. 

The bad things about it being June were that it was hot enough that everyone smelled almost too much to block out, which would be a real problem if I wasn’t keeping up with my feeding (another issue I’d run into back in the brain fog of January), and that it was _already June_. It felt as if time should have stopped. When I came to and found out Simon hadn’t, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone should have been locked indoors, praying to gods they believed in or didn’t. Wasn’t that what happened when a hero was in danger? The fact that no one else seemed genuinely upset was impossible to comprehend. It took a while to realize that it was because none of them were surprised. I’m not sure if I was or not. Definitely, I was, and still am really, to see Simon magickless and comatose. Simon powerless. But the idea of him disappearing, however it happened, I suppose I was waiting for it too. I’ve always been waiting for something dramatic, something to end the grand story that was Simon Snow versus every threat to the world. 

And now it was June, months from the last time Simon last opened his eyes. The last thing he did was apologize for killing The Mage. He was crying, trying to take it back, I think. Even then he was full of life, even if it was a life that felt ruined. How much time had gone by since then? 

A season, nearly two. Holidays, arguments, life events. 

For one thing, I’d graduated from Watford. It was official as of just a few weeks ago. 

I hadn’t really wanted to go back. It still feels ridiculous that I had- Snow in a coma, Bunce trying to lead a revolution, and I’m studying Latin quotations. My family wouldn’t hear of me dropping out. Fiona was on my case, even. They said a lot about my mother’s wishes and the Pitch name, alongside slaps on the back and hands on my shoulders as they each congratulated me (entirely too early) on coming first in my class. I could have decided not to go back anyway. 8th year is optional after all, and besides that I’m legally an adult. But what would I have done if I didn’t go back to Watford? Sit by Simon’s bed day and night? Drive myself mad not being able to do anything for him? Lock myself out of the world entirely? I needed the distraction more than anything else. So even though Watford without Simon Snow still feels completely implausible, and pointless besides, and I felt like a prat for being there more than half of the time, I still went back and saw it through. Anyway, I was already half way through the year, dropping out would look lazy. 

Bunce didn’t go back. She looked at anyone who even mentioned it like they were stark raving mad. Her family didn’t pressure her much, from what I could tell, but I sometimes caught her mum giving her fiercely disapproving looks. Though, to be fair, that could have been for a lot of things. Like attempting to filibuster the Coven when they announced their decision with Simon. Or trying out experimental spells on Simon- which I also wasn’t particularly keen on, but she hasn’t accidentally killed anyone yet, and nothing she’s done has caused him any obvious harm, so I’ll have to trust her on that. She wasn’t judgemental about me going back, though we didn’t talk much about it either way. On the rare occasion we did, she told me she didn’t go back to Watford not just because it felt pointless, but because she was certain she’d cast something illegal on the first person who tried to say anything rude about Simon near her, and she would rather end her academic career by dropping out than with an arrest record. Personally, I think I would have preferred to see that fight. She’s a fierce magician, I’m sure it would have been a sight to behold. 

No one at Watford said much about Simon to me- whether that was because they thought of us as only unwilling and temporary allies, or because of any kind of compassion, I don’t know. Mostly people left me alone, besides the occasionally strange, sometimes completely inappropriate, comment. Dev and Niall are good men, though, and they handled most of it. They’re curious too, I know, but neither one of them much feels like pushing me- probably because they know I’d spell them six ways to Sunday if they really tried. But all in all, it was a shockingly uneventful 4 months. 

I only went to graduation to give the speech, and I skipped the Leaver’s Ball. It wasn’t like I was going to actually enjoy rubbing elbows with the people I’d mainly been actively attempting _not_ to rub elbows with for 8 years. I spent that night at the hospital instead. I expected Bunce to be there too, had prepared myself for it, but she wasn’t. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw her leave right as I showed up, but I couldn’t catch a clear view of her. So I spent the night with Simon alone. I read him my speech. I pretended he was listening. Not a grand and glorious moment, but one I remember better than I would have remembered the ball. 

My heart stuttered. 

You might think my every waking thought is of Simon Snow. It’s a fair thought. After all, at least 90% of my life before all this was dedicated to Simon and to not draining someone- occasionally dedicated simply to not draining _Simon_. It isn’t, though. 

I thought it was torture, spending nights and early mornings with Snow, having him push me to the ground and know it was the only way he’d ever touch me, feeling his hatred of me as my will power eroded. I didn’t think I would survive it. But it was nothing like this. 

Before, there was an ending on the horizon- a bad one, inarguably. Death, more than likely, for one or both of us. It was a temporary state, and even with the painful friction of it, I had him there, part of my life and me part of his, as much as I could take of it. That’s the way things were always supposed to be. But he had to go and prove the rules don’t apply to him. Oh, sure, he can wrap magic around his finger and get what he wanted. He could change what we were allowed to be to each other in one moment. He could pour himself out of consciousness. 

In reality, I don’t think about Simon, not if I can help it, not when I’m trying to live what little life I have left without him. It’s gotten easier (still hard, still really hard). Not knowing, not being able to do a thing for him, even defend him in any way that counts, it’s beyond what I can handle. I can’t think about him, lying there, every second of my life and still carry on. 

So I spend most of my day trying to find distractions. Watford helped with that, for a while. It wasn’t always riveting, particularly the Greek lessons or political science, or the petty drama of the people, but it was something. Something I didn’t have to fix, or look at too hard. Now I have to get more creative with distractions. More smoking. More trips to see Aunt Fionna. More fights. Even some meetings with The Families. Until I get here. 

The journey from my door to Simon’s bedside is the only time I don’t try to put off the thoughts. I don’t know if I could anyway, so I’ve just leaned into it. I have a list of all the things I miss about Simon Snow. Having a life with Simon Snow. It changes nearly every time, but there are a few constants. 

The way he growls- when he’s angry, when he’s pressed into my neck, when he’s readying himself for a fight, like an engine revving to life. 

His eyes. Their own shade of blue. Honestly, I’m not sure if I really remember what that shade is, or if I’ve just tricked myself into thinking I do. 

Brass curls. Bouncing when he moves. Running through his fingers, through mine. The way he pulls at them in his fist when he’s frustrated or nervous. 

How it feels to have his eyes on me, like beams of cutting light. Like he was going to set me on fire. Reset my bones. Dissolve me, until he could carry me in his hands, hold me to his chest. How you could feel it, even from across the grounds. How he looked at me, that night, with the fire between us. 

I probably shouldn’t let myself think about it. Any of it. I’m always a wreck by the time I get to the hospital, though I think I hide it well. But my breathing was shaky and my chest felt empty. There was an emptiness, unable to be ignored, a Simon sized hole. In my life. 

But really, he was still there. In this white, Normal building, that stung with the smell of antiseptic, down the hall, up some steps. Even if it felt like he’d left a long time ago. I should also not let myself think about _that_. The possibility of it. 

Every time I opened Simon’s room door I went through the same flash of emotions. First pain, at knowing what I was going to see, then hope, that it would finally, finally be different this time, then a sadness, at myself for being stupid again, I suppose, and then, of course, more pain. Worse pain, because I allowed myself to think it wouldn’t come. I always thought I’d break the cycle, but it was impossible. In that split second before the door opened and I could see him, it was impossible not to think- today. This time. 

But, just like I should have known (did know, always knew), behind the door was Simon, laid out just as he’d been for months, lit by lights that made him look pale, strung up with tubes that made him look less like he’d ever made it onto his feet by himself, nevermind fought anything. 

I tried to ignore the plummeting of my chest. I was pretty good at that by now. 

I took my usual seat in the impractically uncomfortable chair closest to the head of his bed. I reached out a hand, hesitating for a second, for no reason I can name, then ran it through the ends of his hair. It was grown out. Unsurprisingly. 

Lights aside, Simon still looked beautiful. Crowley, nothing could make him not look beautiful. Even those wings had been oddly gorgeous, especially against his hair. 

A quick footstep in the hall made me grit my teeth, and I had to take a breath and relax. I took my hand away from Simon’s hair, even though I didn’t really want to. 

When I first started visiting I guess I was a bit of a spectacle. I mean, I _am_ dashing (even though most of the times I came in the beginning I probably looked nothing like my best, or even my average), but it was Simon, more than that. Bunce was the one who’d pointed it out to me, when I’d noticed just enough to want to bare my teeth at some of the peering, whispering nurses. She said they found it romantic. Me, holding Simon, every day. 

That wouldn’t have been so bad- just the daily annoyances of women gossiping and giving me looks I didn’t care to see- but a few times I caught them peering in at Simon before I got there, and a few times more I heard them talking about him, making up lives for him to live in their head. Simon Snow has had enough people feeling entitled to him. He’s had enough of people writing his story. I’m not going to let it happen again, even if it’s just silly nurses making up daydreams, even if he’s not awake to know it’s happening. I couldn’t stop visiting Simon. But I could stop holding him. 

Less frequently, at least, more secretly. It felt unfair, and ridiculous, at times, but I keep promises, when I make them. 

Still, it was too hard not to touch him. Or miss him. The day had felt so long, and I was tired. Some days I talked to Simon, and it felt fine, like a part of real life. Some days I tried and it just felt like talking to myself. I didn’t want to hear my voice today. I wanted to lie next to Simon, feel his chest rise and fall. But instead, I took his hand. 

It was getting hard to hold my eyes open, like someone was trying to spell them shut. I squeezed Simon’s hand, like holding on to a rope, an anchor, and then let myself fall asleep. 

\--- 

Penelope Bunce was standing over me, expression a blend of things I didn’t really want to decipher. Bunce has an impressive mind, but lately most of her thoughts, towards me at least, are exhausting or better thought loudly while we don’t actually talk. She was prodding at me, nudging my shoulder for Merlin knows how long. 

I sat up, stretched my neck to the side where I’d cricked it. If Bunce was here, I must have been asleep for a while. Hours. 

I don’t think Bunce comes here _every_ night, but it’s definitely been enough that I’ve heard a few nurses refer to her as “The Sleeper”. Usually she just ate dinner here, at an absurdly late hour I’m not sure how she could stand, but she did sometimes stay the night. Against the rules, apparently, but she got away with it every time. I won’t ask how. 

“How are things, Baz?” Bunce asked. It was a greeting that both needed and didn’t need an answer, depending on both of our moods. 

“As they always are,” I said. “You, Bunce?” 

She sighed, exasperatedly. 

“Oh, the same. Mum’s mad at me, I’m mad at mum. Dad’s doing a jig over his new assignments.” 

I’d slipped my hand out of Simon’s without thinking when Bunce had appeared, and I was only just missing its absence. I tucked my own cold one back to my chest, then stood up, letting Bunce take the place of honour, as she liked to call it. 

Back before everything got written in stone, we used to run updates past each other. Strategizing is Bunce’s favorite thing to do, so we made plans, ran defense for Simon and figured out our plays together. Now there isn’t any point to, and any updates are just another reason not to leave the hospital again. Or, maybe, not to have gone to the hospital at all. Bunce still listens at every door, though, like she thinks if she can do exactly the right thing at exactly the right time she can talk them out of their decision. Thank Magick, she had gotten into the habit of not telling me about it anymore. 

I paused in front of Simon’s bed as Bunce settled into the chair, and I was stuck. 

“You don’t have to go,” Bunce said. 

I shrugged, a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat. It was hard to decide which was the lesser evil- staying or going. 

“You slept away your whole visit, didn’t you?” She asked, then when I didn’t answer, slapped at the chair next to hers like she was summoning a dog. “Come on, Baz. Hang out. Eat some terrible hospital food with me.” 

It was a tempting thought. Penelope Bunce was surprisingly good company for someone who did everything up to spelling someone away to keep from making friends. I was glad at least we’d gotten a chance to be friends. I always sort of thought I’d kill her, or make awkward eye contact from across the room at Simon’s burial where she decided to kill _me_. (A lot of my thoughts on the future, you can probably tell, have always been wrapped up around the idea of death. For good reason, mind you.) I just wish we could have had more time like last year, figuring out non-life or death situations as somewhat strange bonding. Now even if we _weren’t_ talking about Simon, we were talking about Simon- or talking around him. 

I shook my head. Lately I could never decide if I wanted to be around people or not, but the easiest option was always ‘or not’, so I tended to take it. And, anyway, Bunce full of fire and fury was one thing. Tonight she looked sad. And misery might love company, but sometimes misery just needed a break. I say that for both of us. 

“I should get home,” I said, even while I internally grimaced at the thought of it. I missed my room at Watford. I missed too many things. 

“Suit yourself, Baz,” Bunce said, just a bit too breezily. “Don’t bite anyone on the way back.” 

My lip twisted into a half smile despite myself. “No promises.” 

She narrowed her eyes at me. “If I hear anything on the news-” 

I scoffed. “As if I would leave anything for the _news_ to report.” 

“Baz,” She chided warningly, but she was smiling. 

And, strangely, it felt normal. Possible. 

I took a breath, pushing away the smothering feeling in my chest, and found it easier than usual, then turned away. 

I froze. Foot half off the ground, eyes locked on the door across from Simon’s room, ears pricked against my heart hammering and the beeping coming from Simon’s monitor. It was speeding, racing, turning into a siren in my ears. 

I expected someone to push through, give him chest compressions or a shot or Merlin, _something_. I thought maybe Simon was dying. Even when I turned, I couldn’t look at him. _Couldn’t_. Like there was a field around him, deflecting me, like my eyes had to close when they got too close. I looked at Bunce. She was staring back. 

Dying. 

Or something. 

Or. 

Heart monitor sounded like it was going to explode. 

Was that a magickal thing? Could there actually be an explosion? I’d never been to the doctor’s. 

And Simon. 

I could see him from the corner of my eye, but a blur of him. Moving. Twitching. Legs, like they were running, against ropes. 

A seizure? 

A...? 

A gasp, half-choked. 

Whatever had been holding me back snapped, and I reeled myself the rest of the way towards him, hips caught on the foot of the bed. Eyes on Simon. 

And beyond possibility, beyond anything I’d let myself hope. 

He was looking back. 


	3. Simon Awake

There was a boy in my room. It was the first thing I saw when I pried my eyes open. Long black hair and gray eyes and white knuckles (though that last part might have been because his hands were wrapped around the foot of the bed, like he was using it stay upright). He was staring at me like I was a ghost. I grabbed at my leg just to make sure I wasn’t. He was looking at me like I should have known him. All I knew, was that it felt like I should have been on alert. 

Everything was blank. I kept waiting for a twinge, a feeling of near rememberance, like deep, deep in my brain there was some knowledge of him. Nothing. Nothing about anything, really. My name, though I can’t be sure until someone else says it first, an ache in my back I think might be new, that’s it. And now this boy from nowhere, in my room. 

It’s not really _my_ room that he’s in. I know that, even though I don’t know what my room actually looks like, because I’m pretty sure my actual room doesn’t involve tubes or beeping. It’s still shocking, though. A bit intimate. He was leaning in so far that I thought he might be trying to touch me. The thought made my chest feel weird, though I wasn’t sure if it was for or against possible touching. I could feel his gaze on me like it was a physical thing, nudging at my fight or flight instinct, but flight was out of the question. Fight too, I realized belatedly. Also, what was there to fight? 

Still, I couldn’t help my hands bunching into fists. It could have been adrenaline, I guess, just shock or something else tricking my body into feeling like I should have been launching myself out of the bed and eyeing him for his next attack. Anyway, he wasn’t moving. If he was going to do anything but stare at me, I thought I’d at least see it coming before he could launch himself at me. I looked away, even though I still felt suspicious. 

There was a girl, too. I probably should have noticed her first, since her hair was the color of raspberry jam times 10, and she was staring at me just as intensely as the boy. In my defense, she was tucked into the corner of the room, almost directly across from my cheek, not directly in my line of sight. 

I didn’t have the same feeling when I looked at her, like she could be a threat, but I couldn’t shake the idea of it anyway. Maybe paranoia was a side effect of whatever had happened to me. Or maybe I was just a paranoid person- I really had no idea. 

The two people were both frozen, but where the boy looked like he might never move again, like he was content to just half-lay there, she looked like once she defrosted she might pounce. Still not in a bad way, but a _something_ way. I shifted, trying to sit up, and managed it just before she actually did pounce. 

She was trying to squeeze the life out of me, I swear. She was small, but her arms were like boa constrictors. I waited, again, for some memory of her. 

“Simon!” She was screaming (actually screaming, like, at the top of her voice, right next to my ear), over and over again, and it was a relief to hear my name out loud, for what felt like- could have been- the first time. I hugged her back, best I could. There were still tubes attached to my arm. 

“Hi?” My voice sounded all scratchy and muted. It was so quiet I could barely hear it. I cleared my throat, and croaked “hi” again, a little louder. 

The girl pulled back, eyes searching at me. After a few seconds, she carefully backed off of the bed, still taking me in like she was trying to figure me out. 

“Simon,” She said again. She had a nice voice, like a friendly teacher. Still not exactly familiar, but it did make me feel a little more comfortable. Dunno why, exactly. “What do you remember?” 

I set my mind to it again. The girl and the boy both looked like they were maybe 20, so I thought I probably was too, and should have had about 2 full decades of memories. I gave myself a bit of a headache, just squeezing my eyes closed and trying to get to them. But there was nothing there, just a blank wall. I didn’t even know what I looked like. I didn’t even know if I had a middle name. 

I shook my head. 

I thought I saw something change in the way the girl was looking at me, but the rest of her face stayed set in the same determined, analytical expression, like she was testing me. I wondered vaguely if she were a doctor. 

“Okay. Alright. That’s, well, normal, I guess.” 

She looked towards the boy, still at the foot of the bed, and his mouth tightened. He straightened up so he wasn’t leaning towards me anymore. There was something about him that wasn’t really _familiar_ or anything like that, but somehow made me feel like I knew I was supposed to have expectations when it came to him, or people like him. Whatever they were. Whatever he was. 

I hoped I wasn’t racist. 

“Well, Simon,” She said, drawing my attention back to her. “I’m Penelope Bunce. Penny.” She waited, like she thought it would ring a bell and I’d say ‘oh, _Penny_ , of course!’. I wish I could have. “We’re best friends.” 

“Oh.” I tried to look at her harder, eyes narrowing. I thought maybe I could look at her in the exact right way and trigger _something_. Best friends... That sounded like something it would have been nice to remember. Why couldn’t I then? 

She gestured with her hand like it didn’t matter. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.” 

The boy shifted, and the sound of him made me look back at him without really thinking about it. It felt kind of like I’d been waiting for an excuse to anyway. 

“And this is Baz. Longer name, but we don’t have all day.” She paused again, but this time it seemed more for his sake. He didn’t add anything, so she said, “He’s your boyfriend.” 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” 

It was impossible to read the boy’s- Baz’s- expression. My brain already felt like it’d gotten into a losing fight, and it didn’t know what to do with any extra information. I thought it might overheat trying to understand, or prove whether it was true or not. The word (and the fact of the matter, if she wasn’t lying, which I guess I had to assume that she wasn’t since I didn’t have any proof one way or the other) made my heart beat faster from panic or surprise or who knew. The monitor next to me had been beeping faster and faster since I woke up, and it was off the rails now. There were too many questions to ask- far more now, actually, now that Penny had dropped that bomb. I tried to get my mouth around one, hoping that getting even one out of the way would get me closer to not exploding. 

“I’m gay?” Was the question that flew out. 

“You’re... something,” Penny answered slowly. 

“You don’t like labels,” The boy said, finally speaking. 

Penny had a nice voice, but Baz’s voice was nicer. Not that it was a contest. But there was a posh, knowing sound to it, that made me think it would sound good whispering. My heart did an awkward flip and I tried to pretend that it was because it had finally unlocked some missing memory of the people- or just person- standing in front of me. In reality, I think it was just a _really_ nice voice. 

I can’t say that the instinct to dodge or fight was gone, but if it was adrenaline, it was being used in a different way. My hands were still clenched, hooked on the sheet below me like they had ideas I wasn’t privy to. 

I took in Baz again, this time trying to see him not as a stranger. He was. Well, kind of gorgeous. Maybe not exactly model gorgeous- his nose looked like it had been broken a few times, and there were bags under his eyes as dark as bruises- but nearly. He was pale but not in a sick kind of way, just in a way that made his black hair look ridiculously black, and he still had color to his skin that was hard to place. Really nice looking. I guess I _am_ something. And I could do a lot worse. 

He was still gripping at the bed, but he noticed me looking and relaxed his hands. Didn’t move them, though, like the letting go had taken enough effort and he didn’t have any energy left past that. So they were laying there, long fingers dipping towards the mattress, still like he was trying to make them that way so he didn’t do something else with them. I tried to imagine him doing something with them, to see if I could. Tried to remember his hands ever touching me. I was disappointed I couldn’t. 

“Cr- Geez,” The word sounded strange coming from Penny’s mouth, like she’d never had to say it before. “it’s been so long.” There was a false brightness to her voice. Not false like a liar or anything, more like she was trying to make it simpler than it was. But she said my name again and it caught, throat thick in that way that comes before your eyes start welling up with tears. She looked surprised by it. “It’s just really good to see you.” 

I opened my mouth to say “it’s good to see you too,” but closed it again when I realized how cheap it was. It was, good to see her. To see anyone, even if I didn’t know who they were, or if they were a threat. But I thought it probably would have been better to see her, specifically, before all this. And I didn’t want to sound like a liar, because she looked like she was going to cry, and she was apparently my best friend. 

“How long was I...?” I asked instead, and saw Penny’s expression shift again, still too subtly to read too far into. 

“Months.” 

Months. It didn’t feel like it. Which is stupid, I guess, because what does a month long coma feel like? Two month long, actually, at least. _Months_. 

“The end of December,” Baz broke in. His voice was still a surprise, and I was wondering if he was doing that on purpose. If he always spoke less than 5 words at a time. He was even talking softer, not quite a whisper, but closer. Then he added, voice a little louder, “That’s when it happened.” He paused, like he expected me to ask, and I didn’t because I didn’t really want to know after all, but then he said, “It’s June.” 

“June,” I echoed back without even meaning to. Six months. Didn’t feel like six months, didn’t feel like that would be right. “What happened?” I asked, just to stop myself obsessing over counting off the months. 

They didn’t answer. I looked up at Baz, but he wouldn’t look at me, even if I stared (which I did, with at least as much force as he had been staring at me). Penny didn’t break eye contact when I turned to her instead, but she didn’t speak either, just pressed her lips together. I think they were waiting for _me_ to tell _them_. I wondered if it was a secret, if I were a spy. Then I wondered if maybe they didn’t know the answer, because I didn’t know them at all. If I’d hidden it, because I didn’t trust them. Then I tossed that idea (they knew me, you could see it. And Penny didn’t seem like the kind of person who accepted not being trusted) and wondered if it were another test, and if I was failing it (definitely bombing it, if that’s what is was). 

The silence, combined with the frustrating _nothing_ in my head that refused to give me a single answer, was wearing at me. I opened my mouth to say something else, but another figure entered the room just before I spoke. 

This one was a doctor, I was nearly certain. Unless the newest fashion involved lab coats and cat eye glasses. She smiled at me in a bland, ‘oh you’re awake’ kind of way that made me doubt, again, that I’d really been in a six month long coma. 

“Ah, Mr. Snow,” She said, ignoring the other two people in the room. Maybe they weren’t really there. Ghosts seem pretty possible in a hospital. “Awake at last, are we?” 

I thought that was pretty unfair. As if I’d taken a kip and accidentally slept past noon, not been in the hospital for who even knew what. (Seriously- _what_?) 

She seemed to be waiting for an answer, so I said, “Uh, yeah,” and she nodded thoughtfully, like I’d said something interesting. 

“I’m just going to ask you friends to give us some privacy,” She told me, and finally looked over at them, first at Penny then at Baz. Not ghosts. “Alright?” 

I nodded. 

“Someone’s getting you some dinner,” She continued. “And you can feel free to make yourself comfortable, and then I’ll be back in just a few to talk to you.” 

Baz was frowning, in a sharp enough way I couldn’t help but notice even when I wasn’t actually trying to look at him. He seemed irritated at the doctor beyond any reasonable amount. Maybe he just didn’t like being told what to do. Or maybe they didn’t want to leave- Penny looked chuffed too, though less like she was going to bite the woman than Baz did. The doctor gave them a look and they moved, frowning, towards the door. She gave me a look too (a nicer one than she’d given them) and followed them out. 

It felt good and bad at the same time, being alone in the room. Good because I needed to give my brain a second to take in all this ruddy information. And to try to rifle through all the information I _didn’t_ have yet. Like, why was I here, and was I going to remember anything, and why did it feel like someone had carved my entire back with hot metal while I was sleeping? But bad still, because I didn’t really know what to do with myself without Penny or Baz taking up space, and it was impossible not to notice how hospital-y the room looked or how bad my body ached. 

I thought about getting up and stretching, and the second I did my body started going crazy until I got up and actually did it, like it had only just noticed it had been laying in place for the past- for a while. My body worked its way through some positions that felt second nature, but the second I started thinking about them I forgot what they were or how to do them. So I sat back on the bed, and waited. Hopefully, at least, the food would be there soon. 

\------ 

The food was rubbish. Well, not all of it. The pudding was good. But it was cold and bland and there wasn’t much on the tray, and Baz kept looking at it like it was actual garbage, so that put me off of eating it even more. 

He wasn’t in the room at the moment, neither was Penny, but it didn’t make it easier to do anything, eating included. Mostly, I was just trying not to think too hard. 

The conversation with the doctor- doctor _s_ actually, she brought another blond bloke in too, with a similar white labcoat, like they were going to build a model volcano or something for me- had really just given me more questions, and hardly any actual answers. Here’s what I knew- I was hit by a car (freak accident, apparently, fell just the wrong way), Baz hadn’t lied, I really had been in a coma for a little of a whopping six months, and I have some memory loss. (I already knew that last bit, but I can count it as confirmed, I guess). I asked if I was going to get the memories back, and the blond doctor gave me a look like he was going to tell me my hamster died. They both said maybe, over and over through the conversation in a bunch of different ways, but basically the gist was that it’s possible but no one really knows, so don’t hold your breath _Mr. Snow_. 

They started asking me questions about what I remembered, but I kept answering “I don’t know” and I think it annoyed them both enough to put that off until later. They don’t know why my back hurts, but they’re ‘doing something about it’, apparently. And they can’t do a thing about the food. 

I also know that I’ve got to stay here for a while. They keep saying ‘a while’ without actually telling me how long that’s going to be. “That depends,” the doctor with the cateye glasses said to me at least twice. “on how well you do on your tests.” Everything sort of seems like a test. 

When I woke up this morning I was alone, but in the sort of way like everyone had just left directly before I opened my eyes. I don’t know why, but I think Penny and Baz have been trying to avoid me. 

Well, not _avoid_ me. That would be really easy, with the whole me being in a hospital bed. But they’re around less than I would have expected, and less than they want to be, if I’m reading their body language right. Which I might not be. 

But they keep coming into my room and shooting looks at the door like they think someone’s going to throw them out. Makes me wonder if someone actually would, and if I should want them to. It also makes it harder not to feel paranoid. 

The paranoia is another thing I brought up during the talk with the doctors, but they didn’t give me a real answer for that one either. 

“It’s natural,” The blond doctor’d said. “to feel disoriented, especially with memory loss. Maybe the paranoia is a part of that. It should pass.” 

I’m pretty sure I was supposed to feel better from that. ‘Should’ and ‘maybe’ aren’t really comforting words. But maybe that’s the paranoia. 

Anyway, I spent a lot of the day alone, with Penny and Baz, or sometimes just Penny, popping in for less than three minutes or lingering long enough to talk my ear off (Penny, Baz still hasn’t said more than maybe 5 words at a time. He’s still staring a lot.). I think they’re trying to give me space. 

I kind of wish they’d stick around, but for some reason I never actually managed to ask them to. 

I had an idea that if they just told me everything they knew about me then I could remember it. Or just pretend I did. I think maybe if they could just tell me who I was supposed to be, that I could do that. 

Maybe that’s why they stayed away. 

The blond doctor told me not to worry about my memory. He didn’t say it in a “don’t worry, it’ll all work out fine” way, he said it more like in a “what’s the point in worrying” way, which worried me. The cateye wearing doctor told me to see what I remembered, like what was still in the back of my head- like how I knew my name, and stupid pointless things like what a hospital was and that my favorite flavor was cherry. She said not to worry too, but because she thought I could ease into remembering. Like I could relax enough for my brain to let its guard down and then I could sneak a look at whatever had gone on before I woke up in a hospital bed. I liked her advice better. It wasn’t really working, though. 

So far the answer to what I could remember, besides the stupid things, was nothing. I still didn’t remember the car accident (but both the doctors had said I might never actually remember that, if it was traumatic enough) or what I’d be doing if this was an ordinary day. I didn’t know where I lived. I didn’t know my birthday. I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror and I swear I thought it was a photo for a second. 

By the time Penny and Baz came back into my room, right after dinner arrived (just as bad as the night before), I was beyond tired of trying to figure things out. I was also pretty tired of being alone, not counting the clucking nurses and occasional peek in by a doctor. 

I was relieved to see them, both of them. Even though the sight of them also reminded me how much I didn’t remember. But I’d spent too much time pushing, and it was almost easy to give in and stop. There was a second where I could pretend I really knew them- like I could reach out to either one and not feel like I was hugging a stranger. Then I caught Baz’s eye and the feeling left. 

They had looked exhausted when I first saw them, and I assumed it had something to do with the sitting vigil, or whatever it was they were doing (I don’t think it’s too big a jump to assume they were siting vigil, it’s just the thought of it makes me feel uncomfortable), but they looked just as bad now, so maybe that was more permanent than I’d thought. Penny slumped into the chair she’d been in when I first woke up, in the corner, right across from my pillow. 

“How are you doing, Simon?” She asked, and covered her mouth to yawn. 

I honestly wasn’t sure how to answer that, but she closed her eyes so I don’t think she needed me to anyway. Baz dropped into the chair next to her (dropped isn’t really the right word, because that sounds clumsy and I don’t think Baz could do something clumsily if he tried, but that’s the only word that comes to mind) and closed his eyes too. 

I didn’t think I could sleep with them there, which is a weird thing to think about because technically I guess I was sleeping with them next to me for months already. But I think the coma means that doesn’t count, not the same way at least. 

The night before they stayed out of the room. Avoiding- or giving space- like I said. I sort of got the idea that the nurses were making sure they didn’t sneak back in, because I saw Penny’s face a few times in the doorway, and I think I even saw Baz, but that might have been someone else with similar hair because I just saw the back of their head. Tonight they looked like they were planning on staying. 

I saw Penny open her eyes and narrow them at the open door, but when I looked up there was no one there, and by the time I looked back at Penny her eyes were closed again. After a few minutes I think she was actually asleep. 

She had her legs tucked underneath her and her hand was pressed between her cheek and the wall, so she almost looked like she had propped up her head to look at me. It was somehow both comforting and the opposite of comforting. 

I inched down in my bed so I felt a little less like I was being stared at, and tried to pretend I was alone. 

I had a feeling Baz wasn’t asleep. 

There was something about him- there was a _lot_ about him, actually, every time he did anything my mind went into overdrive. Anyway, there was something about him that made him impossible to ignore. Whenever he comes into the room it feels like there’s a hand touching me, like something pushing at me. Or like there’s a siren going off, in the back of my head. Not like a threatening siren, not a “move or die” sort of thing, like when a police car goes barrelling down the street (I remember those too, though I don’t know if that’s from movies or real life or a bit of both), like a warning siren. Like a “be ready to fall into an orderly line” siren, a “keep an eye on that” siren. And it never stops. 

Anyway, Baz was next to the bed, and I couldn’t not think about him sitting there, not sleeping, and I couldn’t figure out exactly how I felt about that anyway, and the only thing I was one hundred percent sure of was that I wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep. 

And then a thought came out of nowhere- this feels kind of familiar, right? The kind of thought you have when you’re not entirely awake, but you haven’t started dreaming. 

I could feel Baz’s eyes on my back- I turned over so I wasn’t facing either of them- and I was thinking ‘this. this is familiar’. And that felt true. So true I didn’t even think to question it, at first, or to figure out what that meant. By the time I wrapped my head around the strangeness of it to try to dig deeper, I had already lost consciousness. 

\--- 

The doctors told me I might have weird dreams but so far you couldn’t prove that by me. One of them kept saying that the stuff I was on, and the trauma, might make me think “peculiar” things and I shouldn't let it bother me, just let them know about it. The other sounded like she thought I might actually remember some things during the night, like hidden in a dream, and even gave me a little composition notebook to write in if I thought I did, like I was going to write a book report for her or something. I didn’t actually dream about anything. Either night. 

But I woke up with a feeling like I’d started figuring something out. Like I’d at least _found_ a puzzle piece, even if I didn’t know where it went. But I had no idea what it was. Or what to do with that. 

Only one of the chairs next to the bed still had someone in it, and surprisingly it wasn’t Penny. She was nowhere in the room, and there was no way of telling when she’d left. A quick look at the clock told me it was late morning already, almost noon. 

Baz, though, was still asleep. He had an arm limply hanging over the side of the other chair, like he’d been reaching out to something, or to someone. I coughed to wake him up, before I’d even thought about whether or not I wanted him awake. 

He opened one eye slowly, like he was being deliberate about it, dramatic. We stared at each other, and something ran through me, like an echo of de ja vu, but not really strong enough to be that even. More like a feeling like it was familiar, having our eyes locked on each other. I wanted it to mean something. I waited for it to mean something, to “unearth a hidden memory” like the cateye wearing doctor had said. 

Really, I think it just meant we’d done a lot of staring at each other, and we’d done enough of that already, since I woke up. 

Baz straightened up, and ran a practiced hand through his hair like he was seconds from showing up to a cool party and he wanted to look the right mix of rumpled and untouchable. He was still looking at me (I was still looking at him) but his expression said that that was just because he was too lazy to look in a different direction. 

I started to say something to him before I realized I didn’t know what I was trying to say. I stuttered out a few words without even paying enough attention to know what they were, and I flinched- cringed- when I realized I had no idea what I’d even let leave my mouth. 

Baz just lifted an eyebrow. 

Slowly, his mouth dropped into a frown, ruining the distant, emotionless face he had on. He looked like he was worried, or sad, forehead furrowing, but he didn’t say anything. I think he might have, if someone else hadn’t walked into the room. 

The blond doctor was smiling at me in the way posh adults sometimes smiled- like they didn’t really know how to deal with kids (if you could call me a ‘kid’. I think he probably still would.) or anyone else who didn’t know how to talk about things like stocks and horses. He didn’t seem rude, or even really snobby, not including the way he looked and stood and called me “son”. He just seemed like he didn’t know what to do with me. 

Not exactly the kind of thing you want from a doctor. 

“I think you’ll be getting out of here today,” He said, cheerily. “What do you think about that?” 

“I think that sounds... good?” I guessed. 

“We’re just going to do a bit of a, well, let’s call it an ‘exit interview’,” He laughed like he’d just made a very clever joke. “and then you’ll be okayed to be on your merry way.” 

He paused like he was waiting for audience participation, so I nodded. 

“We can do that now, or we can do it later if you need more time to get your head screwed on tight.” He laughed again. “Whatever you’d like, Mr. Snow.” 

“We can do it now,” I said, suddenly so sick of the hospital I thought about throwing off my covers and making a break for the doors. 

“Alrighty then! I’ll just grab Dr. Weyers and we can begin.” He rubbed his hands together and left the room. 

Baz stood up as soon as he was out the door, so fast I was half convinced he’d already been standing there even though I knew he hadn’t. 

“I’ll give you the room, then,” He said, and left, not looking at me. 

I didn’t have to wait long for the doctors to come back, but once they were there I kind of wished that I’d had. They were both looking at me with so much expectation that I felt like I’d already failed whatever I was supposed to do. My heart was speeding in my chest just thinking about it. I wondered if it was too late to go back to bed instead. 

“So,” Cateye was perched in the chair Baz had just gotten out of. “How do you feel?” 

“Alright,” I shrugged. 

“No more back pain?” 

“Some.” 

“And still no pain anywhere else?” The blond doctor cut in. 

I shook my head. 

“Any kooky dreams?” 

“No dreams,” I answered. 

“At all?” This was Cateye. 

I shook my head again. She looked a little disappointed. It was hard not to feel disappointed too. 

“And have you remembered anything?” Blond asked. 

“No,” I said, then paused. I was pretty sure he just meant like the accident or those big gaps we kept talking about when I first woke up, but I thought, well, anything could matter in the long run. Who decided what counted? “Kind of. I mean, not really. Just a feeling. I guess.” 

“A feeling?” Cateye leaned in. 

“Just,” I felt my face get hot. “I don’t know, a feeling like I- well, like something is going to go wrong,” I finished lamely. 

It was the way my body kept trying to make me jump out of the bed with my fists raised. The way I kept whirling around at the slightest movement at the corner of my eye. The way Baz looked at me, and the way I looked back, like we both knew I had to watch him. The way I sometimes felt like I was going to end the world. 

But I didn’t know how to say any of that without them both thinking I was off my rocker and landing in a different kind of hospital. Or having it turn into a relationship counseling session. 

“Well,” Cateye said. “that sounds normal in this kind of situation.” 

“Yes,” Blond agreed. “Yes, I think you’re right. We were talking about your paranoia when you woke up, weren’t we? More of the same, son, just more of the same.” 

“I guess,” I said, but now I was thinking about the ‘paranoia’ again. And all the things I didn’t know for sure. Like anything about Penny and Baz. 

“And what about your friends,” Cateye said, like she knew just what I was thinking. “Do you remember anything of them yet?” 

“No,” I croaked out. At some point my mouth had run completely dry. “No,” I tried again. “Still nothing. I don’t know- am I ever going to get them back? The memories? Is it always going to be like this?” 

“I don’t know, son,” Blond said, in what was clearly meant to be a soothing voice. He sounded like an actor. “We can’t promise you anything. But, well...” An expression passed over his face, like he was making a big decision. “You’re alive. You’re awake. You’ve got two wonderful friends ready to take you back home. Memories or not, isn’t that worth being happy about? Son- always look on the bright side of life.” 

He said the last sentence with so much weight it was like he’d just told me something deathly important. I actually did feel better, too. 

He was right. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that. I was lucky to be alive, and I was lucky not to be alone. Everything else I could wait for. 

Both doctors stopped Penny and Baz before they could come in, after the talk we had. I still felt desperate to leave, so it was hard not to hurry them along, or just go without them. I changed into the clothes they left from me, apparently from my closet (just jeans and a purple t-shirt), then waited impatiently for one of them to come get me. 

When they finally did come into the room, it was with more disappointment than I would have expected. Mostly, I was thinking about getting out of the same sterile room, and thinking, more and more, about not being dead. I guessed they were still upset I didn’t remember them. I think I would have been too, if the roles were reversed. But for the first time I wasn’t too worried about it. 

Things felt a bit tense as we finally neared the big doors to get out of the hospital. Neither Penny or Baz were talking, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. But once we were outside, it wan’t as bad. If there was still tension, it was a lot easier to ignore it when you were feeling sunshine for the first time in months. 

Penny started laughing, and something in me relaxed. They flanked me on either side, slowing down when I wanted to look at something or pet a dog. I heard Baz laugh too, once, but he wouldn’t look at me when I tried to catch him doing it. 

We were heading to my flat, which I had supposedly had for nearly a year. Penny kept snapping pictures of me on her phone and was threatening to take even more when we got there. The way she said it, I thought maybe I’d see it and it’d hit me. Maybe something about being there would shake something loose. 

When we pulled up to the street and walked carefully to the blocky buildings, I tried to pick out mine. I picked wrong, three times, until it got narrowed down to just two different buildings. 

Penny put my keys in my hands and set herself up behind me, camera ready, when we got to the right door. This was it. I took in a deep breath, and turned the handle. 

No miracles occured. 

It was a fair sized flat, and clean, but I didn’t recognize it or anything. I didn’t remember living there. 

I shrugged it off best I could. I could feel something deflate a little, but I tried to distract myself. 

Penny flopped down on the couch with her legs thrown up on the arm rest and looked at me, grinning, 

“Welcome home, Simon!” 

“Welcome home,” Baz said, too, but it sounded different when he said it. 

She sat back up. “Want a tour?” 

I was a bit relieved she didn’t need me to admit I didn’t remember the flat at all, and I grinned back at her. She jumped up and grabbed me by the arm. 

“Come on, Baz, tour time!” 

He trailed just behind us, like a bodyguard. 

“Bedroom,” Penny announced when the door swung open to show a bed and a dresser. Then she swung me around and dragged me to the next door. This one had a sink. “Toilet.” 

“Kitchen,” I said before she could. Then we were back to the start. The kitchen and the room with the couch were really the same room, with half a wall between them. 

“Tour complete.” 

She sat back down on the couch and pulled me down with her. 

I looked around the still entirely unfamiliar to me room, and let myself smile. It wasn’t a bad flat. And Penny was a good friend. And really, it felt so good to be alive. 

That feeling like something bad was going to happen at any moment finally lifted, and under it was the kind of relief that came with barely getting out alive. It hit me, for the first time, in a real way. I didn’t know what happened- just the clean words the doctors had used to describe it me- but it felt like I’d fought tooth and nail just to be here, in one piece. And I was going to enjoy it. 

Penny suggested take away, when all our stomachs were growling, and we ordered from three different restaurants when we couldn’t agree on what counted as a good celebratory meal. There was an old looking, thin table near the couch but we didn’t use it when the food came, we ate on the floor, the stuff rug pressing into our skin. Penny was sitting across from me, leaning against the edge of the table so hard I was surprised she didn’t knock it over, and Baz had finally settled down next to me after hovering near us the whole time we were waiting for the delivery. Our arms were touching, almost lightly enough to be an accident. I smiled at him, with a mouth full of chips, and he smiled back like he couldn’t help it. 

We were laid out on the rug, each of us sprawled haphazardly on the floor, and I didn’t even realize it was night time until Penny started rooting around in my bedroom for extra sheets. She didn’t ask if she could stay, just acted like it was assumed. I kind of loved her in that moment. 

Baz sat up, looking as surprised by the time as I was. 

“Sleepover?” Penny said, waggling the sheets towards him like she was trying to entice him into it. 

“You can if you want,” I told him, and I felt my face get hot. 

For a second it looked like he was going to say yes, but he shook his head. “I should get home.” 

“Wouldn’t want the Pitches to wonder where you’ve been,” Penny said drily, and he shot her a look. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” He said, getting to his feet. He was looking at Penny still, but he turned his eyes on me after a second and it started to feel more like a question. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He looked a little dazed, like he was still trying to convince himself, and then he smiled- a real smile, that was somehow less “happy” than it was a million other things. His eyes looked all soft and big and I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. I had the thought- ‘I remember you’, or maybe just ‘I want to remember you’. 

And then he was gone, the door shut behind him. 

Penny was laying back on the floor, a blanket already wrapped around her, when I finally tore my eyes away from the door. 

I went into the bathroom, put new toothpaste on a new toothbrush. Rubbed water on my face. 

The flat was nice, but it was quiet. Quieter than the hospital, since there wasn’t any beeping, or nurses, so it felt more sterile too. And empty. 

Penny was holding her phone above her face, and it was giving off most of the light in the room. It was a relief to see her, to have her there. 

She didn’t say a thing when I climbed onto the couch, instead of into my bed. 

Just, “good night, Simon”. 

I thought about how she- and Baz too- had been strangers about 48 hours before. How I hadn’t wanted her watching me sleep. 

But we didn’t feel like strangers right now. Maybe that was part of remembering. Or, maybe that was just Penny. 

Either way, I knew one thing. I trusted her. 


	4. Baz Overthinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz tries and fails to not have a mental breakdown over his relationship

The thing about not expecting to get what you want, is you really have no idea what to do when you actually _do_ get it. I already went through this once, but somehow the second time is even worse. 

Simon Snow wanting me- Simon Snow saving me- that was the first miracle. And I fought it tooth and nail because- well, I don’t really know why. I have some theories, but mostly I think it was probably just shock. And doubt. 

I knew how we were supposed to play out, and it wasn’t with a happy ending any where near me. It felt like a trick, or a mistake. It definitely didn’t feel like something I could trust. 

And now, I’ve got this. Simon beating the odds and bending the rules again- awake, looking like himself (albeit skinnier from whatever that hospital was doing to him, though he’ll probably fix that immediately if I know him at all), and looking like he’s going to survive. Thrive, even. The way he looked, spread out over the floor. He was laughing. I could see his heartbeat in his throat. 

And I don’t know what to do with that. 

I mean, I’m happy. I’m _too_ happy. I’m ‘I can’t trust myself _or_ this’ happy. 

Simon hasn’t said more than a few words to me, and I don’t have to ask to know he still doesn’t remember anything about me, or ‘us’. (Though that might be for the best.) That crack in the perfect daydream of Simon out of his coma is the only thing that’s letting me function at all. But, still. 

It doesn’t feel real. 

I don’t mean that in the way people are always swooning about and saying “Merlin, this is so perfect it doesn’t even feel real! I love it!”. I mean, I can’t believe it’s real. I _can’t_. 

I’ve had dreams, about this. And the mornings after are always worse than I can take. Remembering what happened, and remembering it’s borderline hopeless. 

Even though I saw him, touched him even (just barely, just arms), it feels like one of those dreams, and I can’t stop myself bracing to wake up. 

By the time I got home I was wishing I had stayed back with Simon, and Bunce, but I wasn’t about to turn around and break down his door. Anyway, I promised my father I’d go to some meetings in the morning, and I didn’t want to start anything by not coming home. Once I dragged myself to my room and tried to get to bed, I was regretting it even more. It was impossible to believe I hadn’t imagined the whole day (week, month...). I couldn’t believe it with Simon next to me, imagine trying to believe it in a room by myself. 

I made myself sick with it, because I can never leave well enough alone anymore. Stayed up testing myself, trying to prove it had happened or prove myself crazy. I never did get more than a few minutes of sleep. Nothing long enough to dream during, which felt like a blessing, because I didn’t trust my brain not to come up with something even more torturous. 

Father kept shooting me looks, and I kept ignoring them. I know I look like shite. I pushed my hair back into something reasonably put together, and my outfit was pressed and dashing, but none of that went far enough to brush off on the rest of me. People always seem to think vampires don’t sleep, and I found myself really wishing that particular misconception was true. My eye lids were sticking together like someone had shoved blue tac in between them. I stifled another yawn and stared at my mug even more forcefully because it felt like maybe someone was going to comment. 

I couldn’t get the image of Simon out of my head. Actually, I could get the entire gallery of images of Simon out of my head. And it was big. I’d been collecting them for over 8 years, after all. 

Father didn’t say anything about Simon (not really a big surprise), but he tried to strike up conversation a few times. Things about the Leisters and opinions on the new reforms, nothing that was ever going to turn into a real conversation. He was reminding me that I’d promised to meet with Reg Leister without actually coming out with it. And maybe he was trying to make sure I was awake. 

I appreciated that, at least, because it kept reminding me that I _was_. 

Didn’t stop me from forgetting again two minutes later, though. I nearly buttered my phone before someone politely cleared their throat to get my attention. And I _did_ walk into a wall- and a door- one or four times. 

I didn’t look good, period. I could see from father’s face that he was already rethinking the meeting. I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want anyone to meet my son looking exhausted and not part of the world, either. 

I went anyway. I can’t say it was a good idea, but I can’t say it was a bad one either. Mostly because I forgot what was happening even while it was in the middle of happening. I walked away knowing that I hadn’t left the perfect impression- probably far from it, compared to The Grimm-Pitch Impression I usually tried to live up to- but I was good enough at these things that it probably wasn’t awful either. I could talk Watford, politics, and international outreach in my sleep. I’m actually fairly sure that I had before at least once. 

During the whole meeting I was half thinking about Simon, half thinking about not falling asleep on the poor man. So it wasn’t until I left his office (it was garish, but all in all a nice place. The man really seemed to love gold, but he also appreciated art deco, so not unattractive.) that I had a chance to be nervous again. 

I hate the sound of that. “Nervous”. Like I was auditioning for the school play. (I assume, from cultural studies with films and movies. Watford doesn’t have a drama society anymore, because The Mage apparently hates the arts.) “Panic” was closer, but that didn’t feel right either, since there wasn’t a spell to dodge or a car careening towards me. 

So I’ll call it nervous. And try not to do something stupid on the way to Simon’s. 

_Simon’s_. It still felt strange (beyond strange, really, if you look at the whole, overwhelming picture). The idea of Simon not in Watford or in the hospital, Simon with an flat and a whole future ahead of him. Both of which I was allowed in, impossible as it was. 

Bunce wants to meet up at his flat together. She went home this morning, and I almost wish we weren’t going to see Simon just so I could hear what her mum said about it. I respect her mother as a wonderful mage, and, from what I’d seen in the last few months at Watford, a good headmistress, but I also had a good healthy fear of her. Not that she’d touch me. But there was the implied threat anyway- that she could, and that she wanted to, at least a little. (Or maybe more than a little. It was no secret she didn’t like my family.) 

The last Bunce had told me about the family tension was right after Simon woke up and Dr. Wellbelove and the Normal had made us leave the room. She was mainly just gloating- she’d been going on for the past few weeks about how her mum didn’t believe Simon was ever going to wake up. 

“She hasn’t said it,” Bunce had said, when I asked. “but it’s obvious. It’s like she’s trying to get me to give up and forget about him.” 

I thought Bunce was as happy to be right as she was to see Simon out of the coma. 

Anyway, I couldn’t imagine Mitali Bunce apologizing or admitting defeat, and I couldn’t imagine her daughter doing either as well, so I was sure their household was basically a battlefield right now. Before, that sort of thing meant if I managed to catch Bunce before she left the hospital- or if she came during my visit- I would get the blow by blow. It was weird to realize I actually kind of missed it. 

Not that I’d give up Simon being awake for that or anything. It was just. It’s easier to miss things. Sometimes. 

I was a bit surprised to find Bunce leaning against the wall of Simon’s flat building instead of inside gossiping or making plans or whatever else she normally did with Snow. It took me a second to realize that that was what she _would have_ been doing, if things were still the same. But there was nothing to plan. And he didn’t know any of the people or things (or world) she’d gossip about. 

She looked up and caught me mid-grimace. She grimaced back. 

“How is he?” 

She shrugged, but her eyes were smiling. It hit me, for the 40th or so time. I let out a breath and let my mouth twist into the beginning of a smile without worrying about it. 

“He’s really awake, isn’t he?” I needed to say it out loud. 

“He’s fine,” Bunce said, and she was grinning now. “He’s alive.” 

“He’s upstairs,” I said. 

“That he is.” And she hooked her arm through mine and pulled me towards the door. 

All the air rushed out of me, and I felt so light without it I was afraid I’d lift off the ground entirely. Simon was leaning against the window, half his face bathed in sunlight, the other half angled towards us. And he looked happy. Crowley, he looked like Simon. 

I didn’t realize I was grinning until my face started hurting from it. Simon was looking at me- different than how he’d looked at me before (before we became anything non-hostile to each other, or after), but different from how he’d been looking at me in the hospital too. Like he didn’t know me like he had, but he wanted to. 

Suspicious glances from Snow weren’t exactly new or surprising, and his narrowing eyes on me for the past few days hadn’t felt like anything worth noting or worrying about. But this was so much better. 

Bunce pushed past me, reminding me I had frozen in the doorway. 

She threw herself onto the couch like she’d already done it a hundred times, and started a conversation with Simon so immediately it was like no time had passed at all. Simon was a little slower with his answers than he would have been before, like he was actually thinking before he spoke, but other than that, he sounded the same. Somehow Bunce had managed to get them back to where they were. 

I really should have stayed the night. 

Then maybe I would have known what to do next. Simon was looking at me like he expected something. Maybe just an explanation. 

He sat next to Bunce on the couch, leaving a place next to him I could have fit into if I wanted to sit basically right in his lap. I stared at the space on the couch for a long second before losing whatever nerve I had and leaning coolly against the armchair near them, perched on the armrest. 

Simon awkwardly inched away from Bunce, erasing the place he’d left for me, and I regretted it, again. 

“Do you remember anything yet?” I asked, because I had to say something, and it was the question that I needed an answer to _and_ could actually ask. 

He shook his head, and something in me deflated. “No, sorry.” 

Hearing Simon say ‘sorry’ to me was more of a shock than it should have been, compared to all of the other shocks. I looked away from him, trying not to show that or the disappointment. 

He stretched out a hand semi-casually, so that it was sticking off the couch armrest, pointed towards my leg. If I wanted to, I could grab it. I wouldn’t even have to move to touch him. 

I wanted to. 

I didn’t. 

Maybe if we’d had even one prior experience with open affection it would have been different. If, say, for the approximate three seconds we’d actually been together we hadn’t been hiding it from every single person we knew, I might not blink an eye at doing something in front of Bunce. 

His hand was still lying there, and neither one of us was looking at it- by which I mean, I kept looking at it and trying to pretend I wasn’t, and Simon kept twitching it which meant he was probably too aware of it as well. 

It was more than just that I didn’t know how to function with Simon around other people (but I won’t say that that isn’t a part of it). I mean, I had only managed to show Simon how I felt about him at all _days_ before everything had happened, and even then it was a fight to not try to act like I hadn’t. I didn’t know how to act around him. I didn’t know what I was allowed, and I didn’t know how to find out. 

Another thing that could have been different, if our timing had been. There hadn’t been time to get used to anything. I’d had more time to get used to Simon being in a coma, after all, than Simon being my boyfriend. 

It isn’t like we’d had some big talk, in our entire history. The closest was Simon trying to tell me he was awful in relationships. We never got to this point. 

Bunce was still talking, and Simon was laughing at whatever it was she’d said. I don’t know how she managed to be so comfortable, and normal. Maybe they just had a better relationship. Actually, I _know_ they did. Technically we’ve all known each other the same amount of time- in fact, I think I have Bunce beat by about two days. But Simon and Bunce actually liked each other the whole time. Went on adventures. Probably cried over scraped knees and romantic troubles. 

Snow and I... All we had was years of violence and maybe a date and a half, if I was being truly generous. It was wrong to even call it a relationship. 

Merlin. I wish Bunce hadn’t introduced me as his boyfriend. It felt like such a lie. 

Simon caught my eye, and I tried to cover the twisting shock that ran through me when he did, just on sheer impulse. It was a survival instinct, staying distant and impassive. And it made me look cool. 

He had an expression on his face that disappeared the instant he stopped looking at me. It was unsettling, and, honestly, worrying. 

He did look at me. I knew that, at the very least. He always had, and it wasn’t always a good thing, so I didn’t take it as much of a sign. Same with the full blown staring. 

I was waiting for something else, though I wasn’t sure I’d know what it was was until I actually saw it. I know what it isn’t, though, and it’s what Simon had been showing me again and again since he woke up, with only a few brief breaks, like when I’d entered the flat- indifference. I’d known, logically, that he probably wasn’t going to remember me, but I think I still had some part of me set aside expecting him to fight me on instinct. We’d never had neutral ground, or gray area. He could have come out of it loving me, or hating me, or well on his way to either. I was waiting to see a spark of something, and it didn’t come, so I just kept waiting. 

“Right, Baz?” 

Bunce was staring at me, and I frowned at her just on instinct. 

“I said,” She repeated slowly, enunciating each word like I’d lost the better part of my hearing. “we’ll be happy to fill in Simon’s memories.” 

“Oh,” I said, but didn’t concede further. I wasn’t sure if I _was_ willing to fill in his memories. That depended on what exactly Bunce was filling them with. 

Simon looked nervous, and what I might call “thoughtful” if he were anybody else. On Simon it looked more like the expression someone would wear when they discovered they’d been caught sleepwalking. 

Bunce was sitting up, legs crossed underneath her yet still managing student-worthy posture. There was a glimmer of the old fire in her, and I almost wanted to usher her out of the room before she could do anything with it. 

It occurred to me, possibly far too late, that we should have discussed exactly what we were going to tell him. 

It seemed like a ridiculous oversight that we hadn’t been having war room-like prep sessions. 

“How did... How did the accident happen?” 

“I don’t know,” Bunce answered automatically. “I wasn’t there.” 

That much we were very clearly instructed about. No talking about “the accident”, real or fake. No unnecessary details. The Coven wasn’t keen on the idea of us speaking to Simon at all, and I don’t think they really believed we’d stick it out, but they made us swear to that for safety. It was unsurprising and, really, hard to argue with for the most part. 

Simon looked disappointed, but not very. 

There was a crease between his eyebrows that appeared when he scrunched his face together, and the sight of it was so familiar I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take much more without leaving the flat all together. Especially if he pushed about the accident. 

“How long have we known each other?” Simon asked Bunce instead, and I relaxed a little. “Where did we meet?” 

“Eight years,” She told him. “and at school.” 

“And,” He tilted his head to look at me. 

“Same,” I answered. 

“We all went to school together?” He asked. 

“Yup,” Bunce grinned at him. “Old school chums, the lot of us.” 

“‘Chums’, Bunce?” I drawled, forgetting for a moment, that we weren’t back in my library over winter break, or shoulder to shoulder next to an unconscious Simon. 

“Oh, just the best buds,” She insisted, eyebrows dancing like she was trying to goad me into something. 

I wasn’t sure if she was trying to get me onboard with her story, or if she really was just trying to annoy me. 

“What was it like?” Simon asked, looking between us. 

“The school?” I asked, surprised- by having to explain it, or him thinking to ask, or just remembering he was sitting there, I couldn’t really say. “Watford is-” 

“Just a normal school,” Bunce cut in. A bit too enthusiastically, honestly. Crowley, did she think I was going to tell him something? “Nothing much to tell.” 

He looked at me now. 

“Old buildings and natty uniforms,” I told him, putting on my best expressionless mask. “Just a regular school, Snow.” 

“Why do you call us both by our last names?” He asked, eyebrows scrunched a bit again. 

“Dumb posh school thing,” Bunce answered before I could. “It rubs off on you.” 

“Then why don’t _you_ do it?” 

“He’s more posh than I am,” She said, easily. 

That was true at least. 

Simon thought for a moment. “Where’s everybody else?” 

He asked it carefully, like he thought we might not answer, or like he knew he wasn’t going to like the answer. I’d seen Snow with his defenses up enough times to know it without a doubt. I knew Bunce had too. 

“Everyone?” I asked, because Bunce was just staring at him, in a bit of a creepily intense way. I think she was trying to see exactly what was going on in his head. 

He shrugged. “I dunno. I just mean. People who aren’t...” 

“Bored of us already?” I tried to ask in a teasing sort of way, but I’m not really a teasing sort of person, and the panic cloying at me all day didn’t make that any easier. 

The tips of Simon’s ears were red. He clenched and unclenched his left hand without looking at it. “I just meant- my family. Other friends, too, I guess.” 

“You’re estranged from your parents,” Bunce blurted out. I tried not to gape at her. “You haven’t spoken to them in years.” 

Simon looked alarmed. I didn’t blame him. 

“Uh, why?” 

She shrugged helplessly. “You never told me!” 

“I-” 

“You don’t like to talk about it, Simon!” 

Merlin’s Tooth, she was practically shouting at him. She looked like she’d realized maybe this was a bad idea. Too late, Bunce. Thanks for the additional lie, though. As if we needed more things to keep track of. 

“No siblings either,” She added, hastily. 

“Oh.” 

He looked far more disappointed by this news than he had been about not getting any answers about the accident. He worried away at his bottom lip like he wanted to say something else, but the room was silent besides the fan next to the window. 

“Everyone else is...” I started, guessing at what he wanted to ask. He looked up at me, a little too much hope in his eyes. “really worried about you.” I finished, lamely. 

I looked over at Bunce, trying to signal her to jump in, but she only looked back at me, lips pressed shut like she was making sure not to open her mouth. 

“They didn’t want to crowd you. At the hospital,” I added. 

He nodded, but didn’t look much happier about it. Bunce finally opened her mouth again, belatedly trying to change the subject. 

Simon excused himself to the loo a little while later and I rounded on her. 

“So now we’re lying about his parents too, Bunce? Morgan and Methuselah don’t we have enough to keep track of? We could have told him he’s an orphan!” 

“It’s not really a lie!” She insisted, managing to both shout and whisper at the same time. Then she swore and fell back a bit. “Alright, I mean, it’s not _much_ of a lie, right?” 

She cut me off before I could say anything, still mid-absolutely-exasperated breath. “He _hasn’t_ spoken to his parents in years. And we _don’t_ know anything about it.” 

“Except that they’re dead!” I shot back, nearly forgetting to keep my voice down. 

“Allegedly.” She looked like she’d won a game of chess. I flashed my fangs at her and she frowned, more like she was disappointed in me than actually scared, but she sighed anyway and added, “Okay, I know. I’m just trying to, you know, keep up the illusion. Crowley, I don’t know what kind of life Simon thinks he has. I don’t know how to pretend he’s a Normal. I’m thinking on my feet!” 

“There are Normal orphans you know,” I said. “In fact, I’m fairly certain every single orphan is a Normal except _this one_.” 

“I panicked!” 

“You’re supposed to be good at this,” I shook my head. 

“I’m not good at - at _improv_ ,” She sputtered, looking genuinely offended. “I am a planner!” 

I heard the door shut and we both fell silent before Snow came back in the room. Thankfully Bunce didn’t think up any other good lies before the night was through. 

\--- 

Spending time with Simon has never been easy. I see him every day, always with Bunce along too, and every day it feels disorienting. I thought maybe the strangeness of it would fade, or actually disappear (I don’t want to say I’m daft enough to believe that Simon is every going to actually get his memories back, but I’m also not not saying that I think about it a lot), but so far it hasn’t. 

It’s been a week, one full week of Simon Snow the Normal, in his Normal flat, making up (as subtle and mundane as possible) lies to whatever questions he thinks up. So far it’s felt more like acting combined with rigorous studying than it has anything else. Never really casual. Definitely never romantic, though I’m not sure who to blame for that. 

Bunce has noticed, and it seems like it’s driving her crazy. Mostly it’s probably just that it’s a problem she actually thinks she can solve, unlike everything else. She keeps shooting me looks when the three of us are together, or trying to get Simon to ask me something directly instead of just talk to the room at large. At his core, I think he feels there’s something wrong with talking to me like he can trust me. He remembers that much at least, if I’m right in reading how he looks at me, or tenses his body when I’m anywhere near him. 

Bunce took me aside the other day, before I got into Simon’s flat building, determined to give me her opinion. It was so in character I wasn’t even surprised, or annoyed, even. 

The crux of it is, she thinks I’m overthinking it. 

“You’re too worried about it being too good to be true,” She pointed out to me, not entirely incorrectly. “You’re poking holes.” 

Her advice was to relax, and not worry about ‘getting caught’ or having the whole thing taken away from us. I told her that would be easier if she would stop making it harder to cover for her. 

I have to keep helping her rewrite stories she can’t actually tell Simon. It’s a good thing I spent most of my life obsessed with Snow and his asinine adventures or we’d both be out of luck. 

But I can’t say she isn’t right. About it feeling temporary. I don’t know how she can slide right back into Simon’s life without getting caught up in all the possibilities and all the lies and strangeness, but whatever power she has, I don’t. I guess I’m holding my breath, for either Simon to disappear or for Simon to... To come back. Like he was. 

The more I think about it, the more annoyed I get at how right she was. 

“It’s still Simon,” Bunce keeps telling me. I know she means it, and I know that at least on the surface she’s completely right. I mean, it _is_ still Snow, anyone could prove that. But at the same time, well. 

I keep catching myself making a list. I’m not doing it on purpose, but it’s there anyway, and I can’t stop myself adding to it. It’s a list of all the ways this Simon is different than the one we used to know. 

No smell of smoke. No sword swinging at the first sign of danger. He holds himself different, like he doesn’t expect a fight. Like he doesn’t expect to have to be the hero. Holds himself less like he thinks he’s got power at all. 

He hasn’t touched me once, to hit me or anything else. He doesn’t bluster nearly as much, but he also doesn’t talk nearly as much. When he isn’t asking questions, he usually isn’t talking at all. 

His hair grew out and he hasn’t cut it yet. I’m honestly still not used to seeing him in Normal clothes, either. I don’t think I ever saw him out of his uniform or the school issued pajamas before, other than when he was in _my_ clothes. 

It’s little things, but they add up. He isn’t a stranger. But isn’t quite anything else either. 

And, really, what is Simon Snow when you take away the prophecy that guided his entire existence? And his magick, and his sword. Who is Simon Snow with no Watford and no threat to fling himself at? I don’t think even he knows. 

This is the first time Bunce hasn’t been waiting outside Simon’s flat or already sprawled on the couch when Simon opened the door. 

He looked a bit nervous when I looked around, searching for her. Like neither one of us knew how to be together without her. 

“Penny had to do something with her family,” Simon told me, sounding a bit awkward. 

“Oh.” I stayed paused in the doorway for a few seconds before I realized how idiotic I looked, and forced myself into the room. 

I settled on the couch, trying to look relaxed. The instinct never to show myself as anything but poised and prepared was strong enough to save me, like a well exercised muscle. 

Simon sat next to me, and I just barely kept my face from showing anything but blase disinterest. 

“What?” I asked, finally. He was staring. He’d stopped doing it quite as much since we left the hospital, but now that there was no other distraction he was staring even worse than he had been. 

He flinched like I’d snapped at him. 

I took a breath. 

“Sorry.” He shrugged, clearly trying to put on his own air of normalcy, like this was all casual and familiar. He was staring at the carpet instead now, right at the stain Bunce had made a few days earlier while gesturing wildly with a container of soup. 

“Snow...” His face was turning red in that splotchy way that happened sometimes, when he didn’t light up like a fire immediately. It was unfortunately incredibly hard to look away from. And, I couldn’t ignore the rush of guilt at making him feel worse. “What is it?” 

He didn’t speak right away, but he was looking at me again. His face was still pink. 

“Do you ever call me Simon?” 

“What?” 

“You always call me ‘Snow’,” He frowned, just a slight tugging at the corners of his mouth. In that moment, it was almost impossible not to lean in and kiss him right there, where his frown was starting. 

“Weird posh school thing,” I reminded him. 

“But...” 

I waited, watching the way his eyes slid past me and then back to my face, and how he started chewing on his lip like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

“How long have we been. Uh. Together?” He asked, and his flush deepened. There was a static feeling under my skin that meant I probably would have been blushing too, if I could. I was grateful I hadn’t drunk much. 

I opened my mouth to answer, then froze. The real answer wasn’t one I wanted to give. I was the one trying to cut down on the lies, but I guess I was a hypocrite. The truth wasn’t one I was willing to give- it was tied up with what had really happened to him, and who he really was. 

“Since October,” I lied. 

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s not long.” 

I schooled my expression again. Guilt and relief were both settled in my chest. I was glad, anyway, he didn’t know the truth, if _that_ was too short. 

“Why?” 

I tried not to sound annoyed, but it must not have worked well enough from the way Simon reacted, shifting nervously just slightly away from me. 

“I just wanted to...” 

“You want me to call you Simon?” I asked, and his name got caught in my throat, breaking in half. 

His eyes met mine, and they were blue and I knew them better than I knew anything else. 

“I want to know...” But he didn’t say _what_ he wanted to know. He was looking at my mouth. 

He leaned forward, slow as if someone had put a spell on us both- me frozen, him melting toward me. His hair, still so long, fell forward and brushed against my skin, and I remembered how it felt to touch it, fingers threaded through it. The blue of his eyes disappeared as he closed them, so close I didn’t know how I would ever move again, ever untangle myself. 

I moved. 

The arm of the couch was painfully lodged in my back as I leaned away from him. He was still angled towards me, eyes not yet opened, like he still hadn’t processed what had happened. 

Then he opened his eyes again, face even redder than before, and looked at me with so many questions on his face. 

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t answer him, either. 

He was Simon Snow, but he wasn’t. The love of my life, but not. All I could think, right as I felt his breath on my face, moving towards me, was that it wasn’t right. Wasn’t him. 

It felt like cheating on Simon with his own twin. 

And it wasn’t logical or rational or piss all what Bunce would say, but I couldn’t convince myself otherwise. Especially not half a second away from him kissing me. 

I turned back towards the door, face forward and nowhere near Snow. He did the same. 

For a few long, intolerable moments, we were deadly silent and possibly both about to bolt. Then Simon said, “tea?” in a rigidly polite voice. 

I nodded, watched from the corner of my eye when he got up, walked towards the tiny kitchen. 

He was beautiful. I shook my head a little, at myself or him or the world. I heard Bunce’s voice in my head, even though I wished I could rip the tiny piece of my mind that she had begun occupying directly out of my brain. “It’s still Simon. Don’t overthink it. Why can’t you just enjoy him _now_ , as he is?” 

I let out a long breath. 

Still Simon. 

However he was. 

I wasn’t ready to really believe that, even if I wanted to. I didn’t know how to, yet. But I was going to find a way to. To stop hurting Simon, and piling regrets on top of each other. 

I just needed a little longer. But hopefully, next time I would be ready. I would have made my peace. 


	5. Penny's Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny gets an idea in her head, they gang has a classic shopping and brunch hang out, and there's a couple asses checked out

Alright, I know Baz has been having his own issues with the situation at hand and I keep trying to explain all his worries away. And honestly, I gave him good advice (I’m quite good at advice, people just don’t tend to want to listen to me until it’s too late). My issue, is that I can’t seem to follow it. 

I’m not boring holes through Simon’s head staring at him like Baz does, or refusing to speak to him which Baz is also doing- no reason why, I think, other than he’s losing his mind- so I’d say I’m doing better than I could be. Nicks and Slicks, I could be having a complete mental breakdown and I think most of the World of Mages wouldn't be even a little surprised. I probably wouldn’t either, if I had the mental wherewithal to acknowledge it at all. 

And Baz isn’t doing too bad either, even though I really do wish he could relax for at least three seconds. 

I know the facts, and I’m usually quite good at getting them on my side, and the inarguable truth is: This is our life now. Simon as he is (Normal, shifty, with so little armor, physical or otherwise, he’s practically floating), pretending to have been in this flat before, lying over and over again. I keep reminding myself that this isn’t just a temporary problem to work our way through. No planning or blunt force is going to get us back to the way things were. 

Sometimes it’s actually easier to just let myself pretend it is anyway. 

I’ve never been the kind of person who “slipped up” easily, and I’m actually a bit horrified that I’m starting to now. I mean, even more than my way of thinking (which is dangerous too, mind you, possibly even _most_ dangerous), I’m slipping up around Simon in ways that could actually get me taken in by The Coven, or mess with Simon’s head. 

I don’t really think it will, especially the little it’s been so far. And I don’t think Simon’s paying enough attention to really see the significance anyway (why would he?). But it could. 

Baz keeps shooting me overly-unsubtle looks when I complicate things by covering with more and more lies, and I keep mentally kicking myself every time I start saying something I can’t. I’ve never spent this much time with Simon where we weren’t strategizing over war or talking about the past (which usually meant reminiscing over ways we strategized over war) or, well, with Simon going on about Baz. (Really should have seen that whole thing coming.) (I mean. _Really_.) 

I could say it’s just been taking a while to get used to. If mum asks- in some hypothetical situation where she _knew_ I was slipping up and I had absolutely no plausible deniability- that’s probably the excuse I’ll use. 

Some of it is just that, nice and simple. Like muscle memory. Like casting a spell so many times you do it without even thinking. But, I’ll be honest with myself- some of it is definitely some part of me that’s trying to test Simon. 

It feels a bit like learning a new spell, when you have to concentrate and figure out the right way to think, and speak, how to get it to work outside of just your head. I suppose I also like a good challenge. 

Still, I wouldn’t be doing it if I could wrap my brain around things not changing. If I could make myself believe that Simon would never be able to finish my stories or pull out his sword on instinct (only tried that one once, before Baz showed up. The vase was cheap anyway, I don’t think Simon cared that it broke, just that neither one of us started bleeding). 

Here are the facts: 

Everybody’s pretty certain Simon’s not getting his memories back, but everyone was pretty certain he wasn’t _waking up_. 

Simon, unfortunately, hasn’t showed a single sign of remember Baz or I, not to mention Watford or The Mage or any other details of the World of Mages. 

When he woke up, Simon was obviously suspicious and trying to figure things out, but since he left the hospital he’s been more relaxed and willing to believe us. (Good in general, since he’s not pushing us out of his flat, but I do have some theories on that specific timing.) 

And most importantly: Simon remembers _something_. 

I’ve noticed it a few times. I’m not planning on bringing it up to Baz, because I don’t want to give him any hope if I’m wrong, and I also don’t want him telling me that I’m wrong. So it’s just been for myself, little tally marks I make in my head and then examine later when I get a chance. 

Sometimes Simon gets this expression I’ve always thought of as his “battle face”, for one thing. I guess that could be his resting face at this point, but I don’t think it is. It doesn’t happen all the time. But sometimes I look at him, and I can picture every time he’s looked like that, and what followed. And he’s always even more out of it than usual when he shakes it off. 

And I’m almost certain I’ve seen him reach for his sword at least once, and then get an odd look for a second like he’s not sure what he was trying to do. 

And I catch him touching his back a lot, like he’s trying to feel where his wings were. But I suppose that could be from the surgery. 

It’s either something, or it’s nothing, and I don’t have enough evidence to decide which quite yet. I’m actually okay with that, for now at least. I’m getting used to the idea of Simon as a Normal, but every so often I like to be able to think- well, maybe there’s this thing holding him back, tying him to the World of Mages. 

Most days I’m almost certain that’s all it is. 

The thing is, I love Simon, and I want him to be happy. It’s all I’ve _ever_ wanted for Simon. So if he can have a good Normal life without feeling any of the regrets of missing out on magick then that’s what I want for him. 

But seeing the reality of that it kind of dreadful. 

He fits in here, which makes sense but also doesn’t. He’s basically a mythological figure. He’s The Chosen One. He’s killed _so many things_. But he also wears natty trainers and worn out jeans and has a favorite Nandos to order from. What I forget a lot of the time is that Simon was born here- and not just that, but came _back_ here, every single summer. It didn’t hit me the same way when it was ordinary, or when it felt temporary. But now whenever I’m with him in his flat, or walking through the least magickal places in England, it occurs to me over and over again that Simon has had an entire life I know nothing about. 

Simon didn’t keep it a secret, he just didn’t like to talk about it. I don’t think he thought I’d want to hear about it either. Or maybe he just didn’t want all of those specific details about the homes and the other kids’ sadness and cruelty to escape over to the magickal part of his life. But it ends up the same place- he lived like this (but worse), without me, and I keep thinking of al this as building a new life, but it’s really more like slotting a few different details into an old one. 

I don’t like the idea of it because Simon never liked living with the Normals and I don’t like that he has to do it now. But I also don’t like it because I’m meant to get him adjusted, and be a tour guide, and he’s not going to need that soon. And then what am I? Just someone telling heavily edited stories he’ll never remember? Who’d want to keep that around? 

It already feels different between us. No shared history. It’s not the thing that made us click in the first place, but it’s pretty much everything in between that and now. The mostly fake stories of our past aren’t really cutting it. Baz has been hinting the same things (both about the lack of shared history, and the fact that I should stop trying to tell him things). Honestly, I’m not always fair about it. I keep telling him he’s just having trouble adjusting, and he’s about had it. But what am I supposed to say? Nothing will ever be the same again? If we think about it too hard I don’t think we’ll have the will to keep doing this. 

So mainly I try not to think about it. The summers or the future or the possibility of Simon remembering things. Not until there’s an answer, which might be never. And I just try to appreciate it and not get exhausted by all Simon’s questions (he wasn’t this bloody inquisitive back at school, if he had been maybe he would have gotten better grades. Maybe if I actually gave him a sword he’d revert back to blade first, ask later. Not that that’s necessarily a good thing. Or a possible one.). 

I wish Baz could do the same, but I don’t need to ask him to see that he’s finding that a bit harder. Nothing I’ve said to him has helped- or he hasn’t listened well enough- so I try not to think about that either. 

\--- 

We were sitting in the kitchen- well, I was sitting in the kitchen, practically in the sink, Simon was waffling between attempting some truly horrible eggs and just spending more money on take away, and Baz was sitting back in the armchair he was in more times than not. It was getting to feel like our new normal. And I liked it. 

Simon did too, you could tell. Maybe he still didn’t completely feel comfortable (a side effect of comas and people lying to you, probably), but his forehead was less crinkled and when I caught him staring it was in a normal, friendly way at least about half the time. Every day we come over he’s a little less surprised. Most days I think he looks relieved. 

He was annoyed that he couldn’t cook. I’ve been jotting down, mentally (and physically, when I get the chance) the way Simon reacts to things, so I can keep an eye on what might make him suspicious again. I don’t think it’s a suspicious sort of annoyed, though, I think he’s just sick of spending the pounds. So, anyway, he’s been trying to learn. And he’s absolutely awful. 

We told him he never learned before because school food was good (not actually a lie), and he’s been trying to remedy that for the past few days. I’d like to say he’s getting better- but after all I’m trying to lie less. 

Simon was fighting with the pan like it was a numpty he was trying to push off of him, and it was reacting about the same as a numpty would. 

“Take away wouldn’t involve a battle,” I pointed out, and he made a face but ignored me. 

He jabbed at it, and the burned to bits eggs sitting inside of it, and then flew back. He hit the wall, hard. 

“Cro-” He froze, burnt hand to his mouth, eyes all big and confused. “...Shite.” 

It sounded so strange coming out of Simon’s mouth that I started laughing before I could help myself, and then Simon was laughing, and I nearly let the whole thing slip past me. 

“What were you saying?” I managed to make myself sound so casual Baz didn’t even look up at us. He looked confused yet again. “Before the filthy language,” I added, trying to tease. 

“Oh,” Simon laughed, a slightly hesitant sort of laugh. Barely noticeable, but obviously uncertain, if you’re listening and also Simon Snow’s best friend. “Dunno. For some reason I think I was trying to say Crow.” He tested the word out as he said it, like he wasn’t quite sure how it was supposed to sound, or end. 

“Crowley?” I couldn’t help but prompt him. 

“Yeah!” Casualness flew out the window. Simon’s always been the type to get loud the second he gets excited. Baz was finally paying attention. 

“Ah.” I didn’t really know what else I was supposed to say. And I had a bad feeling I wouldn’t pick the right thing if I had to open my mouth again. 

“Crowley,” Simon said again, and Baz was _definitely_ paying attention. 

“What?” 

“What is that?” Simon asked. I thought maybe I saw something in his expression. Recognition, maybe. Or curiosity- curiosity was a good sign too. “Why would I be saying that?” 

“Inside joke,” Baz answered. He was too good a liar. It was a bit scary. No hesitation, nothing in the tone to give him away. Even _I_ could barely tell he was tensing up, and I’ve been forced into watching (and hearing about) every minute detail of what he does, feels, and plots for practically half of my life. 

“Weird posh school thing?” Simon said, half asking, half sounding like he was just echoing it back at us. The tips of his ears went pink, and he looked away from Baz. 

Interesting. 

Possibly worrying. (Or not.) 

“Another one of those,” Baz agreed, sounding bored. 

I should probably tell him to try something else with Simon. I wonder sometimes if he’s trying to antagonize him back into remembering him. I doubt that’ll work. This Simon doesn’t seem to care much about what Baz thinks of him. I’ll assume that’s temporary, for all our sakes. 

“We’ve got a few,” I told him. “inside jokes.” 

Simon smiled at me, like he liked the idea of it. 

“Is there a story behind that one?” 

“I don’t remember.” Mark down one more lie. I ignored the disappointed look on his face. 

It was yet another slumber party. Simon didn’t seem surprised at all when I went for the extra bedding- I think he’s getting used to me. Good lad. He’s relearning, a bit. 

What surprised us _both_ , was that Baz stayed too. 

And what surprised me most of all was that Simon didn’t seem too happy about it. Not exactly upset, not like he wanted to set him on fire or knock him out the window (I’m very well acquainted with both of those looks), just awkward. I made a note to ask Baz if something happened. They’ve been avoiding each other’s eyes just enough for it to feel odd. But, I figured, it can’t be too bad if Baz is sleeping here. 

I took the couch and after a few uncomfortable moments, Simon grabbed the rest of the bedding, and then tilted the two armchairs so that they were connected. He pulled a blanket and his pillow from the mess on the floor, and climbed inside it like it was a pram. 

He fit well, at least. Simon still slept like a clenched fist. But nobody was falling asleep fast, or inclined to talk. It was, most likely, the most somber slumber party in the world that didn’t actually involve war or death. So, on the board, not the worst slumber party Simon and I have pulled off. 

I could hear Baz setting up blankets on the floor, and I knew that I could only hear him do it because he wanted me to. Or, he wanted _one of us_ to. I could practically feel him staring at Simon. 

I get the feeling they’re leaving something out. Like, edging around something to pretend it isn’t there at all. That could be why Simon’s stopped staring at Baz like an upended fish and started avoiding eye contact with him completely (honestly the first time I’ve ever seen Simon both try and succeed to not look at Baz for more than twenty minutes at a time). 

But Baz is here, at least. Not rushing off to do something nefarious with the other Pitches, or hiding away until he wakes up in a completely different reality. So, well, I think everything might be a little closer to fixable than it feels. 

\--- 

Simon Snow has terrible taste. I never had to know that before, and the shock of both how terrible it is and the fact that I managed 8 years without running directly into it is enough to make me need to sit down. Unluckily for me, the only chairs in the store were already taken by two middle aged men with the same look of exhaustion and boredom on their faces. 

I’ve seen Simon out of uniform before, in the beginning and the end of the year mostly, but it never occurred to me that Simon didn’t so much pick his clothes than he did have clothes thrown upon him after its first three owners chucked it off. It’s a bit exciting to see Simon shop for a jumper. Except that he might be colorblind. Or, possibly, hypnotized by all the patterns. My mum says _her_ mum swore by that. (It isn’t legal anymore, but our rules don’t apply to Normals anyway, so they could accidentally be getting away with it). 

We’d all woken up fairly early, with a whole day ahead of us, and the idea of any or all of us being stuck in Simon’s flat all day made me want to jump out the window. Simon wasn’t hard to convince. I think he’s getting sick of it too- other than a few walks to the mail or around the corner for take away I don’t think he goes outside much. I’ve got a theory that it’s too much for him. Like, the opposite of claustrophobia. So this is partially a “making new memories” trip (the line I used on Simon and Baz), and a reuniting Simon with the world outside his building trip. And Simon does really need new jeans. 

The wardrobe The Coven left him with is about 10% his own old clothes, minus the uniforms (so about one ratty pullover, a pair of threadworn jeans, and a pair of trainers that looked about on their last lap) and otherwise filled out with whatever they thought a Normal would wear. It’s all very plain. And it’s all meant to fit Simon Snow in his prime. 

Simon came out of the hospital at least half the size he usually is, once Watford meals have completely filled in all his bony edges, and even though I thought he’d work his way back there easily, it wasn’t working out that way. He gained some weight back, but everything was still just loose enough on him to not pass for fashionably baggy. I blame the lack of scones whenever he wants them. 

Maybe I should learn to bake. 

Or maybe Baz should. He’d probably have better patience for it. 

Anyway, I was trying not to push Simon in all his tan jacket, tangerine orange trousers horror back into the changing room because I thought he might take some offence. I restrained myself, and shook my head instead, trying to chanel the energy of someone who might go “hmm, nope, I’m not really sure that’s it” instead of my actual self who wanted a bit to shield my eyes from yet another terrible outfit. 

Focusing on trying not to go blind from colors clashing at least made it a bit harder to think of anything else. And it’s particularly hard to think about anything important when your best friend is dressed like gravy poured on the cheese in a can I’ve seen Micah eat (somehow without getting sick immediately). 

Simon got the hint even without having to push him (thank Merlin) and headed back in the dressing room only seconds after Baz came out of his. It took a lot of whinging on about togetherness to turn this into a “group shopping spree” as Baz keeps calling it under his breath, but I don’t regret it. 

Baz can complain all he likes when this is over, but I know he was desperate to get out of the flat too. Anyway, when Simon popped back out (sans the orange trousers because the universe is not _always_ cruel) he immediately started checking out Baz’s arse, which I take as a personal win, and mentally jotted down to tell Baz later. 

“Buy those jeans,” I told him in the moment. 

I don’t think he heard me, because he was too busy checking out Simon. Black trousers, silvery gray jumper. I nearly passed out from relief. 

“Buy that outfit,” I instructed Simon. 

By the time everything got rung up (a few outfits for Simon, a dress for me, and Baz’s extremely form fitting trousers) it was still early. We slid into chairs around an empty table, stomachs growling. 

Simon’s mind has a way of locking on to food with a singular focus that’s only ever been rivalled by general heroicity, so with saving the world fairly off the agenda it’s clear what he was entirely absorbed with the moment we walked through the door. He was reading the menu like he thought he was going to have to recite it back to them before they’d let him order. 

My stomach was growling before we sat down, but it was hard to feel hungry because without the distraction of shopping and making notes of advice to give Baz once Simon’s out of earshot, all the other notes I’ve been keeping in the back of my mind were suddenly _leaving_ the back of mind and coming directly to the forefront. 

“What are you getting, Simon?” I asked, pushing the thoughts away until I could sort through them properly. 

He didn’t look up. 

“Simon?” When he still didn’t seem to hear me, I gave in to one of the impulses nettling at me. “Cat got your tongue?” 

Both Simon and Baz jumped. It was impossible to tell which one had done it first- if Simon had just jumped sympathetically, or because he felt the table move. Or if he had jumped by himself. 

Baz was glaring at me even though I didn’t say it with a single ounce of magick, and I wouldn’t think of casting that on Simon in a million years- unlike some people at this table. Not that any of us are holding grudges, some of us not holding them against our will. 

“S-Sorry.” He sounded like he was trying to catch his breath. 

“Alright, Simon?” 

He shrugged it off, face pink with embarrassment. “You just caught me off guard.” 

And then it was impossible to hold off thinking it. 

Every time Simon dropped a spell into conversation could be explained away because they were common phrases. The amount of times he’d said ‘Crowley’ could just be from the fake “inside joke”. But the fact that he had known to say ‘Crowley’ at all, and the fact that he knew to flinch when he heard a wicked spell. It was enough proof. 

It meant something was still locked inside his head. Some kind of memory. 

I watched him dig into his plate with reckless abandon, all shock apparently forgotten. By one of us at least. 

The real question was “how much?”. What was still there, able to be uncovered? Just bits like out of context impulses? Or more than that? Last year? 

But the _real_ question was “how did you get it out?”, because there had to be a way. The Coven had seemed pretty certain there wasn’t anything that could be done for him, but any trust I’d had in them vanished once they decided to cut Simon off and practically announce him as dead. It isn’t like they really wanted there to be an answer anyway. They like things simple. Personally, I’ve never really trusted simple. Usually it just means you aren’t looking close enough. 

There’s no “easy” answer to the how, but I’ve still got a few ideas. There are stories. Things that could technically fit as a “life changing cure” if you squinted right. There are a few spells, but I tried most of them while Baz wasn’t looking. And there’s a well in the north that’s meant to grant the wisher’s heart’s desire. Though the problem with that lies in the fact that I don’t really know if getting his memories back would be Simon’s heart’s desire. Can you miss what you feel like you never had, that much? And Baz and I’s wishes would probably just end with Simon being here, period. I don’t think magick wells let you tack on any addendums. The memories are more the cherry on top, so to speak. (It’s just a very important, very difficult cherry.) 

The fact that I can already conjure up both these ideas in my head means that I’m both very good at remembering facts that may one day prove important, and that I’ve already thought about this more than I’d been trying to. 

I tried to think, again, about the first question- what we would be fighting to get back in the first place. Because those other possibilities were obvious dead ends, and everything else I could find would probably be more dead ends that were harder to find in a book. So, the third question- is it worth it? To dive head first into something completely questionable and Merlin knows how far away, just so Simon might remember what it felt like to lay on the grounds during the beginning of year picnic? 

I didn’t have to think about it for more than a second. 


	6. Simon Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon takes some alone time, Baz acts weird, there's a few important dreams, and Simon has a revelation about his relationship

There was an open window on the wall, and the sun was stabbing through it at just the right angle to hit me in the eyes. Everything looked blurred, the way things look when you first wake up and you can’t get your eyes all the way open. But it didn’t go away when I tried to blink, just got harder to see past, until it was nothing but yellow-white light and a cloudy, muddy gray where there had been stone bricks on the wall. 

In the back of my head- so far back things can’t really touch you, but you can’t touch them either- I was kicking out, trying to force a little control. But it was only making it harder and harder to hold on to the image of the room. 

I heard a door open somewhere in front of me. And even though it was an ordinary sound, it made my heart start hammering in my chest. I felt myself brace for it, body tensing like it knew what it meant- like something was coming, something I expected at the sound of it. All around me the blurred colors muted, fading into blacks and whites and grays as I tried to focus my eyes, find the door. I felt my nails cut into my hand. 

I jolted awake, sunlight in my eyes. The sight of it was so like the dream I felt half-stuck in it. My hand found the pulse in my neck, crawling up my skin to get to it, like I could hold it steady. 

My hand dropped onto my chest instead, and I let go of a long breath, trying not to notice that it shook a bit. I swung my legs over the side of the couch, siting up. My heart was still pounding in my chest, like I’d run for my life, and I was glad, at least, that no one had stayed over the night before. 

Having Penny and Baz around felt a bit like finding yourself in an exclusive club you don’t actually belong in. It’s flattering, and it’s better than the alternative, most of the time. But there’s always a kind of feeling like you’re either the butt of some joke, or about to be kicked out because they finally noticed you shouldn’t be there. I’m holding my breath a lot, and I don’t think I’m the only one. Sometimes it feels like we’ve all decided to keep pretending, and I’ve just got that memory erased as well as the rest of my lifetime of memories. 

Mostly, I still like having them around. Even though I can only relax when I’ve forgotten that I’ve _forgotten_. 

But there are some things you don’t really want an audience for. Panic attacks are pretty high up on that list for me. 

(They’re in one of the pamphlets the cateye doctor slipped me before I left the hospital, and I’m pretty sure that’s what this is. If I’m right, then I’ve had a few. Too many to keep being lucky and go on just having them when I’m alone, really.) 

I moved around the flat not really feeling fully awake. There was a fuzzy feeling in my head that reminded me of the hazy way the room in my dreams had looked. My head hurt just thinking about it. 

I made a note to tell the doctors, since they told me to talk to them about any pains or “unusual symptoms”. Then I made another note not to, and shoved the weird pain as far back in my head as I could. The blond doctor had been the one to make the offer, and he didn’t really look like he wanted me to take him up on it. More than that, I realized, having to even think about the way he’d looked at me made me realize just how much I didn’t want to have to see him again. Nice as the man had been, something about him made me feel a bit sick. Like stopping short of walking of a cliff. 

I nearly walked into the empty bedroom instead of the toilet, even though the flat was too small to ever get lost in. After over a week of living there (more than, I reminded myself, if you’re counting all the time you can’t remember), I thought I should have had some kind of instinct about it, the way your feet sometimes bring you where you want to go without having to think about it. But it hasn’t happened yet. I was actually hoping that would kick in earlier, just from muscle memories- like the positions my body fall into when I stretch in the morning. That would at least make me feel more like I lived there. _Had_ lived there, ever. 

The truth was, the more I waited for some far forgotten memories to get “uncovered”, the more I realized I didn’t remember. Like, at all. Sure, there were little random things about the world, and about myself (my jam preferences, the length I keep expecting my hair to be when I touch it), but there were more little things missing. Like this flat. 

I hadn’t even slept in the bedroom yet. It felt too much like sleeping in someone else’s room. And it felt a bit too empty too. I decided I could probably blame that on the constant “slumber parties”, as Penny has been calling them. Those were even going on when I wasn’t conscious enough to be an actual part of them. Maybe I can’t sleep in a room by myself anymore. Not without feeling like I’m waiting up for someone. 

I’ve been trying to ignore the feeling, like everything is so brand new I can’t get a handle on it. But it keeps coming back anyway. 

I was sitting outside the flat, because it was starting to feel less like a home and more like catacombs, and it was hitting me again that I couldn’t call up a single memory of ever sitting there before. There was nothing familiar about it. 

The dream only made it more obvious, and I wished, desperately, that I hadn’t had it at all. It wasn’t like it was helping. Only making it clearer that I had no idea what I was doing, and that I was completely floundering at actually living my life. I felt more connected to a random brick wall my brain made up than I did with a single thing in my waking life, besides Penny, and I guess, sometimes, Baz (though he’s about as easy to read as that wall, and seems just as interested in me). 

No Penny or Baz today, anyway. Penny said something about trying to give me space, like she was worried they were around too much. She didn’t look happy about the idea, but she didn’t take it back, so I guess she’s doing it anyway. (Baz didn’t say anything about giving me space, but once Penny said she wasn’t showing up it was pretty obvious he wasn’t either. I don’t think he wants to be around me by ourselves.) (It’s possible that’s because last time I tried to kiss him). 

(But. I mean. We _are_ supposed to be dating. And he was giving me eyes.) (I think). 

I guess I do kind of need space. It’s not something I was worrying too much about before, but it could at least make it a little easier to work things through, not feeling like Penny’s watching my every move and not watching Baz shut down like a semi-emotionless robot. And it could maybe help me remember what it was like before- assuming this isn’t actually normal, and I should be used to having at least one person in my flat at all time. 

The problem with being alone for a full day for the first time got pretty obvious fairly early on in the day. I already knew the apartment felt empty and uncomfortable, and I wasn’t surprised when the whole idea of using the time to work out some of my memories fell through (too much frustration, too little actually coming from it other than my head aching0. The real problem was that living alone was super boring. 

Without anyone to talk to, or Penny coming up with ideas, I couldn’t think of a single way I was supposed to fill the time. 

I thought about Penny’s shopping idea, just trying to think of a good reason to leave my street. But I didn’t know how much money I had, and I didn’t really need anything. And really, that felt like something that would only be fun if you had someone else with you. 

I felt for the little flip phone I’d gotten in the hospital, replacing the one that had apparently gotten crushed in the accident. It only had the cateye doctor’s number in it and Penny’s. Baz said he didn’t have a phone, which sounded kind of like a lie, but everything has sounded kind of like a lie, so I think maybe I’m not ready to decide what is and what isn’t yet. 

I dropped my hand and pushed away the thought of texting Penny. I felt a bit pathetic. 

Not just because I remembered so little that I didn’t know how to do anything or go anywhere without getting lost, or just because I was apparently still so bad at living my life that I couldn’t think of a single thing to do, which, really, was bad enough. But what was making it worse was this guilty feeling clogging up my throat. There’s this feeling that keeps coming and going, and I never know when it’s going to hit, this kind of feeling like I should be doing something. Something big, important, I think. It could be restlessness (also in the pamphlets), but I dunno. It’s like this urge to jump up and run somewhere, a spark of something sometimes when I meet Penny’s eyes, like one of us is about to say something or do something earthshaking. And when nothing happens, and I can’t figure out what I’m meant to be doing, there’s this sinking, suffocating, like I’ve just ruined everyone’s chances. 

I rubbed a hand against my throat, and tried my best to ignore it. 

And, above everything else, I tried to think of a good distraction, 

I’m not exactly getting better at any of this, at battling whatever it is that happens to me sometimes, but I know how it goes pretty well now. I know it’s guilt all around my throat, and then, if I let it, that it moves down to my chest and my heart will seize up. Panic attack. And then I’ll stop being able to breathe. And then I’ll start smelling smoke. I think that bit’s because of the accident, but I don’t know for sure because I haven’t asked anyone. 

I stood up so fast I nearly lost my balance, rocketing off of the stoop I’d been sitting on. My heart wasn’t entirely _panicking_ yet, so I went back to ignoring it. I was kind of hungry. Not like, actually hungry, I guess- bored hungry. Comfort food hungry. 

Something occurred to me, and I ran with it without giving myself a second to think, or even check for my wallet (thankfully already in my trouser pocket). 

Ice cream doesn’t solve all things. But my heart went pretty much back to normal about halfway through the cone. 

I closed my eyes, tasting the cold cherry ice cream in my mouth, and felt something almost like a memory. And I couldn’t catch it, and I knew I couldn’t, but it didn’t bother me as much as it normally would, so I didn’t really try, just enjoyed it. Cherry, and a half empty room, and feeling safe. 

\--- 

The window was open, light streaming in and hitting me in the eyes in a way that felt painful and disorienting and familiar all at once. The first thing that hit me, besides the sunlight, when I closed my eyes, was the way the wind pushed in, and I could almost picture where I was- high off the ground, the top of a building. The room was hazy, like there was a layer of dust hanging over everything. It almost looked a bit wavery, like heat on the top of a car, or the way they always show mirages in movies. I tried to get my eyes to focus, but they only did the opposite, until everything was so scattered and blurred I didn’t even know what I was looking at. 

And I was thinking, just that kind of feeling without even words really- I’ve done this before. I’ve been here. I know what this is. 

But it was like that thought was in a whole different country, too far away to actually reach me. I just had this feeling, clinging to me even worse than that haze covering everything, trying to get me to remember. _Something_. Anything. 

And then, something broke through. Just enough to hit me, so I heard myself inhale, not quite a gasp, just a second before I heard the door open, like I’d known it was going to. And I knew I was waiting for it. And the fact that I didn’t know why was going to kill me. 

I pushed myself forward, desperately, towards the door I couldn’t see, but I couldn’t hear or see anything else- just sense that someone was there, right out of sight. I threw myself at them with every ounce of strength I had. 

“Ow.” I grabbed my elbow, pulling it to me. I was laying on the ground, after body slamming the floor next to the couch. The shock of it almost made me forget about the dream. 

Third time I’d dreamt it now. It still left me with a weird feeling I was no closer to figuring out- or figuring out what the dream even _was_. 

The other thing I’d forgotten about suddenly became impossible to ignore- I wasn’t alone this time. 

Penny wasn’t in the room- I could hear the shower running, and I could sort of remember her complaining about feeling sticky before we fell asleep- but Baz was staring at me from the arm chair. 

My first thought was, how long has Baz been sitting next to me, watching me sleep? My second thought, when I managed to stop obsessing over the first one, was that Baz just saw me throw my entire body off of a couch, in my sleep. 

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say about that. 

I guess, logically, this is a good opportunity. I mean, if it _was_ a dream memory, then I was probably going to have to eventually ask someone about it, and I only really have 2 options. Penny should have been the top option, but for some reason I didn’t really want to bring it up to her. I wasn’t really sure _why_ , but I’d blame it on a mix of the way she watches me like she’s taking notes and that same ‘biding time until you get kicked out of the club’ feeling. When it was Penny, it felt big. I think Penny just has a way of making things big, anyway. And for some reason I was sure trying to tell her anything about the dreams, or the panic, would be the beginning of losing the rest of my grip on the whole situation. And possibly losing one of the only two people I actually know. 

But even though there was no reason not to feel exactly the same way about telling Baz, I didn’t. Maybe it was the fact that he usually looked bored. He seemed harder to, I don’t now, _rattle_. Or maybe it was just that it felt a bit less like we were pretending, most of the time. He already knew I shouldn't have been in the club. 

He was still staring at me. I opened my mouth, then realized I didn’t know what I was going to say because, “what am I dreaming?” had a whole host of problems. 

“Uh.” 

I was still on the floor. Still gripping my elbow, which was still throbbing from hitting the floor dead on. 

I opened my mouth again, willing anything else to come out. “Uhhhh.” 

Baz raised an eyebrow. 

“Why are you here?” I blurted. 

The other eyebrow shot up too. 

It wasn’t the question I meant to ask, but it was a pretty good one anyway. I’d only just realized Baz hadn’t stayed the night. Technically he shouldn’t have been there, definitely not staring down at me when I could have been having a panic attack. All in all, worth asking. 

Still. Probably not the best way to put it. Unless I was going for a record for how awkward your relationship could get. 

“I mean, when... How did you get here?” I tried to correct myself. “When?” I added after a second. 

I finally grabbed hold of the couch and pulled myself off the floor. 

“Bunce let me in,” He answered, slowly. 

And damn it, he _did_ look bloody rattled. The sight of it made my stomach swoop, a whole flood of confusing emotions hitting me before I could try to push them away. 

“Sorry.” 

He shook his head, looking less like he was trying to be polite and more like he was trying to get rid of a a fly in his hair. 

“No, I’m sorry, I should have asked before I came, I shouldn’t assume-” 

“No, no, that’s okay,” I cut him off. 

He still sounded dry and posh and measured, but I thought I could hear something else too, just under it. I mentally took back calling him emotionless. 

This whole thing reminded me a little of the last disastrous time we were alone, and I felt my stomach clench. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bolt, or see what was going to happen _this_ time- probably more of a mess, with the track record so far. 

“You just surprised me,” I said, trying to copy his tone enough not to sound like an idiot who was on the floor seconds ago. 

“You surprised me too,” He said, and he almost smiled. I remembered thinking he looked one step down from model gorgeous when I first saw him. He was a little closer to model right now, with the way the light was hitting him, but somehow it felt less intimidating than it had before. 

I laughed, picturing the scene from the outside, and it was a little less embarrassing now. 

“I didn’t expect- it just reminded me of....” His voice sounded different. Softer. It trailed off, and when I looked up he wasn’t looking at me. He was frowning, mouth thin. 

I wasn’t breathing. I could see the harder edges coming back, whatever _that_ had been slowly draining away, but I was still afraid to move, as if I could break the spell, even as it was already breaking. I really couldn’t figure Baz out. 

A voice boomed from the hall, “I’m _starving_.” 

Penny had a towel wrapped around her hair, her rumpled clothes back on, and didn’t care if she was interrupting something or not. 

Penny forced us all out of the flat again. She said she’s getting sick of moping about the same place every day, and I want to be offended, but I’m really not. _I’m_ getting sick of moping around the same place every day. 

So she took us to get breakfast and promised me really good scones if she could lure me out of the neighborhood completely. I have no idea where we actually were, but the scones _were_ good. 

Penny and Baz were sitting on one side of the table, both studying their menus the way I probably would be too if I hadn’t still been thinking about the way my morning started. It felt weird to be sitting somewhere with so much food around me and not feel more than the slightest bit hungry. Too much on the brain, I guess, even if most of it just question marks. 

They gave us coffee already, and a basket of scones for the table, and I’ve eaten a few, but even though the whole place smells lovely (cinnamon and strawberries and bread), I’ve barely picked up the menu. 

My eyes keep moving on their own, to stare at the wall behind Penny’s head. It’s like a magnetic pull, and one I didn’t even really notice before I _noticed_ , when Penny looked at me odd and I had to pretend to pick out my order. 

It took me a few bouts of staring to realize what was nagging at me. The wall against the table was smooth and blue, like the one behind the register, but the one the front door was part of was made up of exposed brick. It was when I started to zone out, and my eyes got tired, that I figured out what it reminded me of. The wall in my dream was swimming before my eyes. 

I tried not to look back up at it, because it seemed like a good idea not to openly freak out over walls when you’ve got an audience. I’d already ruined making myself look normal and well-adjusted for the day, with Baz at least. I wasn’t sure if he told Penny, but I sort of thought he did. She was looking at me more carefully than usual. And that was saying something, with how she’s been looking at me for the past few days. 

But by the time our food came out, I caught myself looking again. 

It wasn’t just the dream, I realized. That was part of it- that was the weird, stomach flipping part of it that made me want to pinch myself, and also check behind my shoulder- but I wasn’t just feeling paranoid and out of it. Once I managed to push away some of the dream stuff (I did actually pinch myself, as subtly as I could), I realized I wasn’t panicking. The opposite, actually. I felt more calm than I could remembered feeling since I left the hospital, like a stronger version of what I’d felt when I’d gotten ice cream a few days ago. Comfortable. Like I could lie down and take a nap and not have to worry about whether I’d remember where I was or not. Which was kind of a weird thing to think about a random restaurant I’d never been. I pinched myself again. (Still nothing.) 

I thought about the dream again, the brick walls, the feeling of the wind, I thought I could imagine a bed underneath me. Familiar. Comfortable. 

More than my flat was, anyway. 

Not that it mattered, if it wasn’t real. I couldn’t exactly move into a dream. 

But that didn’t make the feeling of it fake. I’d felt that way at some point, somewhere, I was sure. Even if I had no idea where. Maybe back with my parents- but that didn’t feel right. And according to Penny I hadn’t seen them in years. 

“Simon?” 

I blinked, and Penny was waving her hand in my face. 

“Alright?” She asked, still peering at me the way she’s taken to peering at me. 

“How long have I lived in my flat?” I asked. I wasn’t worrying about slipping up then, it was too obvious I needed answers. I felt stupid for not asking earlier. 

“Uhh,” Penny leaned back. She looked a bit stunned, which seemed like an over reaction, even if the question _was_ out of the blue. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to come up with the right answer or just trying to avoid answering. 

I frowned, then took it back, and plastered on a casual smile instead. I wasn’t trying to interrogate them or anything, after all. 

“I mean, did I live there through school, or?” 

“Well I think you went home during the summer,” Penny said, not quite looking at me. “I don’t really know where you went when you weren’t at school.” 

“So I lived on campus?” I pushed. 

“Uhh....” Her eyes darted to Baz, who wasn’t looking at her. “Yes.” 

“A few years,” Baz said, and it took a second to realize he was answering my first question, about the flat. 

“Oh. A few like....?” I waited. 

“Two I suppose,” He shrugged that way people do when they’re waiting for you to stop bothering them. 

“Hmm, alright.” I tried to keep my voice casual. 

I guess it worked, because after about a minute, it was like nothing had happened. They were both poking at their food (I’ve still never actually seen Baz eat, I’m starting to think he doesn’t), looking normal and a bit relieved. I didn’t feel the same. Against everything in me trying to cling to the hope that everything would work out- that my friends were doing nothing but helping me, that my head was just a bit broken and I needed time for it to heal- I opened my mouth again. 

“Well. If I could live _anywhere_ , you know where I’d live?” Baz was already watching me, eyes just a little narrowed like he didn’t trust me. Penny was still eating. “A big brick castle.” 

Neither one of them reacted like they’d heard me, other than Penny nodding absent-mindedly. 

“You know,” I pushed. “somewhere with a big tower. I think I’d like that, living at the top of a tower.” 

They both froze. 

It was more obvious with Penny, because she had a piece of sausage sticking out of her mouth, but Baz wasn’t blinking either. 

It could have been a second later or five minutes before Baz said, “No. Terrible idea.” 

There was a subtle difference in the way he was looking at me, a different look in his eye, and tightness around his mouth. I don’t want to sound like I’ve been staring at Baz enough to know those difference, but I kind of have. I’ve been staring at lots of things, but Baz is probably top of that list, if I can catch him when he’s not looking at me, or if I have a good excuse. So I’ve got some theories about what that change means. 

Penny nodded after a second, I could see her out of the corner of my eye. 

“Yeah?” I asked, forgetting for a second the whole ‘I’m not trying to interrogate them’ thing. 

“They’re a nightmare to heat,” Baz said, easily, and picked up his fork even though I knew he wasn’t going to use it. “Unbearably drafty.” 

Penny laughed, too brightly for it to be real. “And full of rats.” 

I thought I saw something flash across Baz’s face, but it was gone in half a second. “That’s true too.” 

There was something about them. Like they were a united front, and they were against me. Or against me asking questions, anyway, which still felt _against me_. 

They were holding themselves differently, like they expected me to keep pushing. Like they were waiting for a fight. It was a scary thought. Me having to fight them, for real, on anything. (And, I’ll admit, I was probably doing a lot to make it feel that way.) 

I took a breath, and changed the subject. 

The rest of breakfast went by without any weird pauses or tension, besides Penny elbowing Baz a couple times throughout, and I tried to forget about it. 

I kept waiting for someone to say something about it anyway, but neither one of them did. Penny talked the whole way back, the way she normally did, and Baz even smiled at me, and sat next to me on the bus. It should have felt good. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. 

\--- 

The sun was coming in through the window and directly into my eyes. I took in the brick wall, the dusty weirdness covering it, the feeling of the bed under me, the wind on my face, and thought- alright. I know this. Alright. This is a dream. 

And I didn’t try to do a thing. I barely even looked at the room, just waited for the sound of the door. 

And I heard it open, in front of me, the same exact sound from all the nights before. I turned my head slowly, being as careful as I could. I didn’t want to mess something up. I felt like I could trigger bring the whole building down just by moving too fast. 

But the dream didn’t fall apart, or stop. I didn’t wake up. The door was open, and I could see a figure standing there, in the doorway, all shadow and power. 

My heart was racing, but it wasn’t panic. And it wasn’t just expectation. 

I wanted to get up. I wanted to throw myself at them, again. I wanted to erase the distance between us, and I didn’t know what I was going to do when I was in front of them, but it didn’t matter. 

They didn’t move, but I could feel them watching. I could feel them waiting. 

I opened my eyes, and felt the pulse of my body, the fire in it, and was glad, again, there was no one around to see me wake up. This would have been even more embarrassing than throwing myself elbow-first onto the floor. 

I was in the shower, water ice cold, before I let myself really think about it. 

The feeling. The figure. The waiting. 

I feel different when I have Penny around, or Baz. When I see them for the first time all day, it means something. I’m usually happy, or relieved, and I always sort of feel like I’m waiting around for them. 

But none of that is anything like how I felt in my dream. 

Waiting around because you’re bored and used to it is a completely different thing than waiting for someone like I was waiting for... whoever that was. 

My heart picked up again when I thought about it. I still didn’t know exactly what the image of the person in the doorway made me want to do, but it made me want to do it enough that I was digging my nails into my palm for the second time that week. 

Whatever it was, it was strong. And overwhelming. 

It stayed in my brain the whole time I was getting dressed, and when it got closer to when Penny and Baz usually came over I tried my best to think about something else. Thinking about that dream felt wrong to do in front of either of them. My face flushed. Baz especially. 

And then the nagging in the back of my brain, pushing me towards the images of the dream got too strong to ignore. The complicated mess of emotions were impossible to sort into anything as easy as just one thing, but with the way my body.... and if you pick it apart.... I wanted to touch them. More than that. My brain feels all staticky the longer I try to think about it, so I had to close my eyes and try not to let myself think anymore. I could feel my breath hitch anyway. The sad, confusing truth, is that whatever it is I felt in the dream- whatever it is I was feeling even now, felt more real than anything I’d felt when I was awake. 

I’d forgotten about anyone dropping by by the time I heard someone on the stairs. I braced myself, nerves and, honestly, unhappiness, balled up in my chest. I still needed time to think. About the dream and the the past, but I also really needed time just to think about how I felt. 

Now everything felt so fake. And it was hard to pretend that it didn’t, like I’d have to if Penny started asking me questions. 

I thought about the figure in the doorway again and felt a flush run through me. 

Then I shook it out of my head, thinking about Baz coming in on that. 

Baz. 

I frowned. 

Maybe he was lying. He definitely didn’t _act_ like my boyfriend. (Most of the time. And, really, even then I don’t know what he’s thinking). And I didn’t really know him, anyway. 

That same feeling I got in the hospital was inching back up on me again. Paranoia (apparently). But, really, being fair, I _didn’t_ know them. All I had to go off of was what they told me, and they could have told me _anything_ and I wouldn’t have known the difference. 

Or, well, maybe I would. Maybe _this_ was the difference. 

Maybe that figure was really who I was with. 

Maybe Baz really _was_ a spy. (Probably not, but I’m not making any assumptions that he’s not). 

The door opened, slow, and then it stopped. Whoever was behind it knocked, as an afterthought, light enough to barely move the door. 

“Uh. Come in?” 

I wasn’t even really surprised to see it was Baz. It felt like it had to be. 

He had his arms crossed, standing in the doorway like all of the sudden he wasn’t sure if he was allowed in. I could feel him looking at me, closely, like Penny does, and ducked out of his line of sight. 

He settled in to the arm chair finally, after a few more long seconds of hovering next to the door. 

I was busying myself in the kitchen because I didn’t know how else to get out of being in the room alone with him. Usually Penny came earlier than he did, or they wound up coming in together. 

But she didn’t appear by the time I’d lingered as long as I could between the sink and the fridge, so I went back in anyway, holding a cup of water as an excuse. 

We sat in silence, neither one of us really looking at the other. 

“Bunce isn’t coming,” Baz said, abruptly, after a few minutes of not talking. “In case... In case you didn’t know that.” 

“I didn’t.” 

I looked up at Baz for the first time since he’d walked in, and almost immediately wanted to look away again. He was looking at me different, closer to how he’d looked at the restaurant the day before. I was used to him looking a bit frosty, but now it was like some of that was melting away. Not like he was warm and welcoming, mind you, but. Different. Gentler, I guess, even if he still looked intimidating enough to make me want to leave my own flat. 

“Is that okay?” 

I stared at him for a moment, waiting for my brain to catch up. “Uh. Yeah.” 

He was acting weird. Like he’d caught on to me catching on. I pictured him deciding this morning exactly how to throw me off his trail and grit my teeth. I remembered the way my hands curled into fists when I saw him in the hospital- something I’d completely forgotten about until now, because they were doing it again. 

“Simon.” His voice was soft, and it sounded all wrong. 

My head jerked back up to look at him again before it clicked. _Simon_. He’d never said my name before. Not that I could remember, at least. 

He also sounded like his throat was closing, or he was going to cry. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him from the horror of either of those things actually happening. 

“Baz” I said, carefully, trying not to let any emotion through incase he could tell that I expected the act. 

Neither one of us spoke, and then he cleared his throat, sounding posh and put together. His eyes were still all big and open, so I didn’t look at them. 

I held on to the certainty I’d had before. Something is wrong. Something is being hidden. It probably has to do with Baz. 

I took in a breath and tried to act like nothing had happened. 

“Just.” Baz _wasn’t_ acting like nothing had happened. He wasn’t using that voice anymore (thank God), but it was obvious he was working up to something. “How are you today?” 

Not was I was expecting. 

“I’m... fine?” 

“Good.” 

“How are _you_?” I echoed back after a few awkward seconds because what else were you supposed to say? 

“I’m fine too.” 

“Good.” I let the word drag out a bit, letting it sound as weird as this whole thing felt. 

Baz didn’t say anything else. He looked so tired. 

I tried not to let that sway me. 

But actually- no, maybe tired could work for me. He’d almost told me something before, when he’d stopped himself. I didn’t know what it was, or if it was important, but it was important enough not to say, and anything Baz was hiding from me was automatically important. Anyway, him looking a little like he had then, it made me want to test it. 

“Baz,” I said, and I could feel his attention focus on me, even though his eyes didn’t move. I noticed he was already looking at me, and I was trying to figure out what he could be looking for before I remembered that I had more important things to think about. “What you said about castles, and towers, yesterday.” 

He tensed, so subtly it was barely noticeable. He was readying himself for something, mind probably coming up with every possible way to block any of my casual pushes. 

“I had a dream.” What’s the point of subtly anyway? Maybe I’d catch him off guard this way. “About a room with brick walls. At the top of a tower.” 

He looked surprised, but he was hiding it. 

“Do you know anything about that?” I continued, staring at him. 

“No.” The word came out so fast I swear it was an automatic reaction. I kept my eyes on him. 

Silence stretched out again, even more awkward than it was before. 

“Really?” 

He shifted a little at the word, and the edge of his mouth was slipping into a frown. 

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat, not looking at me. This was a new expression. But I didn’t get a good enough look to make a guess at what it was. “Maybe it was a building in the school. A- classroom?” 

That felt a little right, but not completely. 

Baz was looking at my mouth, and I realized I was chewing on my lip. I stopped. 

“Okay.” 

He gave me a look like he knew I wasn’t buying it, but he wasn’t willing to change his answer. 

The wind from outside was peaceful from the window, and I could hear people talking as they walked by. I listened to the sounds of the street as my mind worked. I was trying to keep my face blank, even as I decided whether Baz was my enemy or not. 

“It’s hard.” 

I looked up at him, startled. 

“Knowing what to say to you.” He still wasn’t looking at me, but I was glad. This felt... realer. And I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. “I want to tell you everything. But.” His eyes glanced off of mine, then settled over my shoulder. “Simon, I just want this... I just don’t want to overwhelm you. I don’t want to make this any harder. I...” 

He reached a hand towards me, so slow and uncertain it looked like a breeze could have knocked it away. I could have moved, and stopped him, or pushed his hand from me. I didn’t. He was cold against my cheek, hand so light I could have closed my eyes and believed he wasn’t there at all. 

“I think we should start over. I want to be... I want you to feel safe, and comfortable, and... normal.” 

He wasn’t lying to me. 

Or, he was probably lying to me, but, not about this. Not about us. 

I mentally hit myself for thinking it. Looking into Baz’s eyes for approximately 2 seconds had made it obvious I was wrong. And that I was an idiot. 

It all made sense now- the distance, the weirdness. He was trying to be protective. I didn’t... love it. But it wasn’t... 

It all made sense now. I clenched my teeth. 

I could feel the way my heart felt in my dream, looking at the figure in the doorway. The stiff, quiet way it felt around Baz. I thought of the way Baz looked at me like he didn’t trust me. 

“We can... start over,” I choked out, as evenly as I could. 

But that guilty feeling was clawing up my throat again. 

I was an idiot. And an arse. 

I was a cheater. 


	7. Baz's Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny shares a lot of opinions about Baz's love life, Baz tries to open up, and big plans are made.

I have a bruise from Bunce elbowing me every two seconds. I think I liked it better when she was too focused on Snow being in the hospital, and on fighting the Coven, to worry about anything else- like my love life. 

According to Bunce I’ve been doing whole a list of things wrong. (A literal list. With footnotes and highlighted sections. I’m almost glad she didn’t go back to Watford for our last year, I’m not sure I would have walked away top of the class if she had thrown herself into it the way she throws herself into everything else.) 

Apparently I don’t smile enough, I don’t talk to Snow enough, I look scary half the time, my face is wrong.... 

“My _face_?” I’d said when she brought it up. 

“Don’t take it personal,” She shrugged. 

“It’s my face, it’s a bit hard not to take that personal.” 

“Well. Yeah. Do take it personal. But also, don’t- don’t do _that_.” She came me, hands raised, like she was going to physically rearrange my expression. 

I can’t say I’ve been getting everything right with Simon, but I don’t like Bunce treating me as her pet project. It involves a lot of sympathetic looks, and as talented a mage as Penelope Bunce is, she’s far better at exasperated expression than pitying ones. I also don’t like the way she’s been on my case about every little thing she thinks I ought to have done. When I threatened to stab her if she kept trying to subtly pick my arm up and put it around Simon on our way back from breakfast she took the hint. But that didn’t stop her from pointedly staring at me every time she wanted it clear she disapproved of whatever it was I was doing. 

Like now, when all I was doing was sitting near Snow, like always. She kept shooting me looks, and then, when I ignored her, flapped her hands around her mouth like she was trying to start an extremely poor game of charades. 

She bared her teeth at me like a feral animal, then slumped forward dramatically. Crowley. And she thought _I_ was the one acting strange near Snow. If anyone was going to be messing with his head, it was the one of us pretending to be a rabid mime. 

I finally figured out her increasingly poor hints, and relaxed my jaw. She shot me a thumbs up from between the arm rest and her thigh, like being sly mattered after that display. 

I still can’t believe _this_ is what was thwarting my plans plans all through school. Merlin knows how Bunce, and Snow- who was currently choking on a grape on the couch- had ever gotten anything done, not to mention managed to actually get in my way in ways that didn’t involve just tripping into me. 

Bunce whacked Snow on his back until he let out a wretched noise, and spat half a grape into his hand. 

I should probably be disgusted by that. 

The fact that I’m not is all the proof I need that I’m still impossibly in love with Simon Snow. I knew that already- I always knew, or assumed, I’d spend the rest of my life that way. But things have gotten complicated, and sometimes you need a reminder. And what better reminder than a half eaten piece of fruit sitting in the palm of your boyfriend’s spitty hand. 

I wanted to grab it. (His hand, not the grape. I’m not quite _that_ sick.) 

He looked at me from the corner of his eye, like he could tell I was staring at him, and I panicked. I felt my jaw tense again, eyes narrow the way that usually started a fight. But even without looking at Bunce, I could hear her chastizing me. 

And she was right. Merlin, I knew I wasn’t going to be good at this. Even before the memory loss I’d known I would be rubbish. But it was even worse than I’d expected it to be, fighting the impulses of, well, fighting. 

“I think you’re trying to get a rise out of him,” Bunce had said a few days ago. It would have been easy to ignore, or turn into an argument, if she’d said it like she was annoyed or like an accusation. But she’d sounded sorry for me, like she didn’t want to be the one to have to break the news. 

It doesn’t matter if that’s what I’ve been doing or not, it won’t work. Simon Snow doesn’t care a thing what I do. Getting Snow to punch me was never the best option out of everything I wanted, but at least I could always fall back on physical assault when I was too desperate to just snarl and avoid him. 

There was nothing between us- not like it was, anyway. Nothing violent, no powder keg waiting to go off. What we had now was some half-sure thing that expected to be soft, and badly failed at it. (Or maybe I was just the one failing there.) 

I never thought we’d be able to do soft. Not really. Not for long. 

But it looked like I was going to have to try, and hope for the best. (Hope his instinct to punch me didn’t suddenly come back the second I dropped my guard). 

I smiled at him. 

It wasn’t an easy smile (my jaw was still fighting to stay locked, and suddenly I couldn’t stop wondering what, exactly, was wrong with my face according to Penelope Bunce), but it would have to be good enough. 

Simon froze, still not facing me. 

His lip shook a bit, and I wasn’t sure if he was about to smile or about to burst into tears (really, what is wrong with my _face_ , and is it doing something offensive enough to make a 19 boy year old start crying?). He ducked his head before finally turning and meeting my eyes. 

The way he was looking at me was still so different than I was used to- different than he _should_ have been looking at me, with the last eight years all factored in, good and bad. But I guess I had to get used to that, for good. 

His mouth finally fell into a smile, small and unsure. I’ve never seen Simon Snow look shy before. 

But I thought I could be ready for some firsts. 

\--- 

Simon stared up at my house with his mouth hanging open. (Still a mouth breather, no coma or amnesia could fix that). I think he would have just stayed frozen like that if I hadn’t grabbed his arm and tugged him away. 

It still felt like a bad idea, having him in my home. It _was_ a bad idea, Magick knew that, for about a million different reasons, including but not limited to my house being haunted, magick practically lining the entire building, and my family existing inside of it. That last concern could at least be ignored today. 

They were out for the day, and not coming back until late. I wasn’t fool enough to bring Snow anywhere near my house with father or the children still inside. 

(If we’re being specific, there was actually still one child in the house, but a baby isn’t much of a threat, and he was with Vera, who was probably the safest person for Snow to run into in the entire area, since she’s Normal, and discreet enough not to mention anything odd to us, or to my father.) 

“You _live_ here?” His eyes were still rolled all the way up, staring at the doorway and the ceilings as we entered the house. He was tripping a lot since he wouldn’t pay attention to where he put his feet down. I used that as an excuse to keep holding on to his arm. 

“Your eyes are going to get stuck that way, Snow,” I drawled. 

He smiled at me, and it was almost like it had been, back in December. Almost. 

“If you live here-” He paused. 

“I do,” I said, because it sounded like he really might not believe it. Even though he’d just seen me use my key to unlock the front door and I was currently shepherding him flawlessly through the rooms as fast as physically possible, so he’d have less of a chance of seeing something suspicious lying around. (Though apparently that wasn’t really necessary, since he was still gaping at the ceiling. He was going to burn his corneas out, staring at lights.) 

“Then why are you always at my flat?” He asked. 

I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t have an answer. Not one I could give. 

I started to say, _“Because I want to see you”_ but stopped myself before I’d done more than barely open my mouth. 

“I’d rather be here than stuck at my place,” He said when I didn’t answer. There was no heat in it, but it still sounded like a dangerous line of questioning. “Why...” 

I saw his expression mute as he trailed off from my peripheral vision, like his smile was dimming. 

“Well, you’re here now,” I told him, intercepting the not-quite-asked question. 

“Yeah.” He smiled more forcefully, but suddenly he didn’t have the same carefree, ridiculous look to him. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but at the same time, I really didn’t. I didn’t want to know. 

Even the simplest answers turned too complicated with just one more question added in. It was better for both of us to stay quiet. 

I pushed open the doors to the library and watched Simon gape again, whatever had been wrong apparently forgotten. It really was an excellent room. Also, one the least probable to have Snow running for his life. 

(My house isn’t terrifying, but most of the rooms _are_ haunted, and even the Snow who knew about magick was scared of it. Better just to try to tip the odds in my favor.) 

My eyes lingered on the fireplace, and I felt it like a blow to my gut. All the time we’d spent here. Simon, holding his face above mine. Simon grabbing my head between his hands and making the whole thing real- not a one off, or a mistake. Not another sick daydream. 

Like he could read my mind, Snow said, “Have I been here before?” 

I had to swallow to get around the lump in my throat. “Yes.” 

I heard Bunce sighing at my tone again, but damn her, there was only so much I could get through. 

He took a few steps further in, and I felt my chest seize a bit for the second it looked like he was going to the spot he’d sat when I first brought him here. But he walked past it, to the window. 

“Is this yours?” 

Not to the window, actually. He was standing beside my violin. 

He was staring at it the same way he’d stared at the ornate ceilings and doors. It didn’t deserve it. It was the only thing in this room not passed on from maddening towers of history, besides Snow. 

It wasn’t even a particularly nice violin, other than the fact that it was mine. 

“Yes.” 

He moved his arm like he was going to run his hand over it, but stopped himself. Hmm. Maybe memory loss had actually improved his manners. I doubted the old Snow could have stopped himself from doing much of anything. 

“I didn’t know you played,” He said, then flushed a dark red. Probably remembering how little he actually did know. 

I walked over to meet him, pushing the same thought out of my own head. 

“Would... would you?” Simon looked like he was close to working himself into a bluster, and I felt my own face warm. Blast it all, I had poor timing with my meals. And I’d had more than usual, because I wasn’t exactly confident about having Snow over, and biting him didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility in this new reality of little tortures. 

I grabbed the instrument, busying myself with the hope my face would settle back to its pale color, and that Snow hadn’t gotten a good look. 

I took a breath, and started in on a piece I could play in my sleep. 

It wasn’t as good as it would have been, if I’d practiced more than a handful of hours within the past year. Certainly not as good as it had been last summer, when I’d channeled most of my conflicting feelings about Snow and the future into the twisting, minor trills. But, still, it was good. 

I would have had to have broken my hand for it not to be. 

I’m not an amazing violinist- I don’t have the time to practice, and it’s never been able to be a priority. But really, I know the piece backwards and forwards. And I’ve practiced enough not to be entirely rusty- it’s something to do with my hands that’s usually better than the alternatives. 

I let the piece slow and fade away, keeping my eyes half lidded, locked on the violin. 

“Wow.” 

I kept my eyes away from Snow and whatever expression he was making. 

“Was that... was that the whole thing?” 

“No.” I let out a breath, and put the instrument back. “But it’s the important part. The whole thing is nearly half an hour.” 

“I’d listen,” He said, then flushed again. His eyes skirted off the violin, and I watched him desperately search for a change in topic. I pretended my own face wasn’t red, yet again. 

“You’re good,” He said, still looking at the carpet. Then he looked up from the corner of his eye, a smile threatening to over take his face. 

I felt it like the first blow in a fight. 

The way you know something is beginning, and it’s going to end with you hurt, you with bruised knuckles from pushing back. 

I didn’t think I could handle it if he actually smiled. The old smile, a new smile, it didn’t matter- I just knew this one would be real, and bright, and aimed directly at me. 

I coughed, giving myself a second to try to formulate something to say or do to fix it. “I know.” 

His shoulders jumped when he laughed, smile changing to something a little less dangerous. He rolled his eyes like he was used to it, used to doing it at me. I tucked that away, ignoring the thought and the aching, stupid hope attached to it. 

I sat down, leaning into the chair, when I saw a familiar shadow in the doorway. Vera was good at staying out of sight just in case the situation wasn’t one she should be involved in, or seen involved in. 

“Are you hungry, Snow?” 

Simon grinned. “Always.” 

“Could you bring Snow something, Vera?” 

Vera came just close enough to the open door to nod. “Of course.” And then she disappeared. 

Simon devouring food in my library wasn’t new. And I could feel echoes of it happening before, faintly in the back of my skull. 

There were enough echoes to make it hard to move, hard to feel like I wasn’t dangerously close to watching my own life repeat in different, sad versions of itself. 

But most of it. That was new. 

I was trying not to look at Snow, which was getting harder because once he’d scarfed down half the plate Vera brought him he started shooting me looks. I wouldn’t look at him long enough to translate what they meant. I was pretty sure I was better off not knowing. Not worrying about it. 

But I caught myself smiling, eye catching on the violin, on Simon sitting in a different place than he’d sat before. 

Even so close to memories I had and he didn’t, it felt less like trying to trace the past. These were new memories. And I kind of liked the thought of that. 

Simon was fiddling with the plate on his lap, head leaning forward so his whole body was at an angle, pitching away from the back of the loveseat. I watched his fingers move, counting the freckles against his knuckles like counting sheep, watched his hands shift, one falling away, past his knee, slipping. 

I caught it before I knew I was moving. 

He froze. But his hand gripped mine. 

He lifted his eyes to up to meet my own, and I forgot how to breathe. No matter how many times I saw his eyes, that deep blue, I was never ready for them to lock on me. Never ready for the weight of them. The pain of being seen, but not really. 

I almost met him, leaned in and stopped making excuses. He was looking at me like he wanted me to- like he was already thinking about it. I watched his eyes move over my face, slowly, like he was trying to put the pieces together. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simon think that hard- like it mattered too much to just jump in, sword swinging. His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I was moving. 

His eyes snapped back up to mine, and he blanched. He looked pained, face bone white. 

I froze, not touching him, but he still pushed himself so far away from me he nearly toppled off the loveseat. 

He wouldn’t meet my eyes now. 

“Sorry.” Barely audible. 

It had been a while since Simon Snow had felt like a fist in my side. 

\-- 

“What, Bunce?” My head hurt from lack of sleep. It was hard to close my eyes without seeing Snow hanging half off of furniture to avoid me. Or to stop my thoughts from drifting to the fact that I thought.... I slammed my eyes closed, and let out a long breath from my nose. Said again, “Bunce.” 

I could hear her arguing with someone next to her phone, but she wasn’t showing any sign her ear was actually to it. 

“Ah, Baz.” Finally. 

“Why,” I leaned back against my bed, sighing. “do you call me when you’re in the middle of sparring with your family?” 

“I’m not sparring them, I’m _teaching_ them,” She corrected me. 

“Teaching them what?” I ground my palm into one dully aching eye. 

“History and law,” She answered readily, sounding ever the student. “And not to touch my bloody stuff.” 

“Fascinating. I’m going back to bed now.” 

“It’s nearly noon, Baz,” She scoffed. “Anyway, I called you for a reason.” 

“Obviously.” 

She ignored the sarcasm. “We need to....” There was the muffled sound of a hand covering the phone, before it let up again a few seconds later. “We need to talk.” 

“What are we doing now?” I asked, dryly. 

“Ha. I’m serious. It’s important.” 

“Alright, fine, what is it?” 

“Let’s meet at the park near Simon’s.” 

“Why can’t you just tell me _now_? 

“Here?” Her voice pitched up, and I could imagine her expression, eyebrows touching her hairline. “With _these_ people?” 

I could hear someone yell something in the background- most likely at Penny. 

“Okay, Bunce, fine. Should I....” 

“No Simon.” 

I sat myself up. “Meaning?” 

“Can you make it in an hour?” 

“Bunce?” Nothing. I sighed. “The park is only a few streets from Simon’s flat. What are you planning to do if he shows up?” 

“Baz.” It was all in her tone. How obvious it was that Simon wasn’t going to go anywhere outside of his flat willingly. 

“I can make it.” 

Bunce was late. For someone so obsessed with planning and tactics she was surprisingly bad at keeping time. And at staying focused if it wasn’t life or death. (I assumed that was what had held her up this time too.) 

I was trying to figure out exactly what to say without sounding too hopeful or too cynical (I didn’t even know which one I actually felt, they were pushed too closely together to know for sure), but when she dropped down next to me she didn’t give me the chance to say a thing. 

“What do you know about Nanteos Cup?” 

“Noth-” 

“Nanteos Cup,” She cut me off. “is a cup- well, more of a bowl- that’s supposed to have healing powers. Some people think it might actually be the holy grail. And it was supposed to be brought over from Joseph of Arimathea whose tomb Jesus was supposed to have risen from- well, anyway, all of that is obviously just fairytales.” 

I raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Baz! Healing powers!” 

I raised the other. 

“There are reports going back to the beginning of the _19th Century_ of Nanteos Cup healing incredible things.” Her eyes were huge. “Impossible things.” 

“And what were you saying about it obviously being a fairytale?” 

“The holy grail and Jesus bit- but the _healing_ ,” She was throwing her hands up now, and it was inarguably obvious exactly what she was thinking. “That’s documented!” 

I kept my mouth shut. 

“I mean, think about the relics we _do_ have,” She argued, without needing me to say a word. “Normals don’t think they’re real. Even the well known ones they’ve heard of, everyone just thinks they’re part of stories. If we hadn't gotten them we’d think the same, right?” 

I refused to open my mouth. 

But I was already thinking about it. 

Stupidly. 

A world with Simon back to how he was. Memories intact. Magick coming off from his skin. It hurt to think about it like it was possible, but I couldn’t stop. 

“And it’s in Wales,” She finished, eyes flashing. 

It was too easy. 

Genuinely, _too_ easy, for it to actually work. 

I shut it down. Built a wall around the idea of it, and torched it. It had been too hard getting to where I was with him, and we were already backtracking to that place where we couldn’t even look at each other. The last thing we needed was for me to let myself obsess over impossibilities. 

And Bunce shouldn’t either. _She_ was the one who kept telling me to make the most out of it, embrace the new Simon Snow. I told her as much. 

She made a face at me, mouth narrowed. “That was when there was no chance of helping him. Now there’s a good chance and it’s not even far away!” 

“You think dragging a clueless Snow to Wales is going to _help_ him? How does that make it any easier for him?” 

“Well.” The look on her face changed. “Maybe being somewhere new _would_ help him. We’d be seeing it for the first time together. No lying or pretending.” 

She must have saw my resolve disappearing, because she dug in. 

“Could be a romantic getaway too. New memories in a new place, on holiday without a worry in the world.” 

I snorted at that last bit, and she grinned. 

“We were supposed to go travelling you know. That was our impossible plan, back at Watford- see the world.” 

“Wales isn’t the world,” I pointed out. 

“Who says we need to stop at Wales? We can keep going forever.” 

“I don’t....” 

“Even if I’m wrong,” Penny said, in the way people who are sure they aren’t tend to say things. “it’ll be nice to get him out of the house. And we’d be fulfilling an old promise for him. Right?” 

I took a breath. 

It wasn’t going to work. Not the way Penny wanted it to, anyway. I wasn’t going to let myself think seriously about Simon getting himself back. 

But it might work anyway. 

I thought about the way he looked at me in the library, across from my violin. The way things got simpler the fewer memories- false, and one-sided- and assumptions were between us. 

“We’ll need to convince Simon first.” 

Bunce beamed. “Not a problem.” 

\--- 

Bunce was actually right. Unsurprising to her (and I suppose it should have been unsurprising to me as well, since I hardly ever see her getting things wrong, especially with Snow), but still a shock to come to terms with. 

We’d both seen him when he woke up, ready to call our bluff. And in that restaurant, when it seemed like we weren’t going to get away without a full blown list of suspicions pouring out of him. But he didn’t put up a fight. Like he’d never had a doubt, never questioned whether he should trust us. (I’m still trying not to let myself feel anything about that last part.) 

She didn’t even ease him into it. Just told him they were due for their post-graduation world trip, and promised him it was all worked out and paid for in advance. 

He’d looked so happy. 

Something else too, but Snow was never just one thing anymore. There was always a layer of uncertainty or mistrust or nerves. Maybe there always was, and the weight of the world on his shoulders was just louder. This time, though, it was more like a blip. Like an afterthought, brushed away to make more space for excitement. 

They’d chatted away about plans (Bunce, incredibly cryptically, since she didn’t actually _know_ or _have_ any plans, but somehow she pulled it off nicely), while I hung back, sorting through exactly what came next. 

Then Simon caught my eyes, something in him still hanging back a fair distance, but he gave me a half-smile. “You’re bringing your violin, right?” 

“On a trip?” 

“Don’t people-” He flushed slightly, the flush that usually means he’s not sure if he’s forgotten or misremembered something he should have known. “Don’t they play in the streets sometimes?” 

“Sometimes. Some people.” 

I was thinking about it every time I passed the library. Which was more often than normal, because I kept having to stop packing. The whole idea od the trip felt so ridiculous I’d half unpack before I made myself redo everything. And sometimes I was fairly sure I’d dreamt the whole thing and I was packing for nothing. 

More lack of sleep, I decided, was to blame. 

Father kept looking at me when I was unlucky enough to be under his gaze, but I’d slipped away from him without a word so far. 

I had a list of resolutions, and I was doing my best to keep them the best I could, and preparing myself to stay at it in the coming weeks. 

Number one, don’t watch Snow sleep. As I hadn’t stayed over his flat in days, I was doing marvelously at that one. 

Number two, don’t encourage Bunce when she gets an idea. Wrecked currently. But we’d see what happened when we got to Wales. 

Number three, stop throwing away career opportunities. I hadn’t gotten a new one since the botched interview, with a man I’d actively avoided and ignored since, but I still thought it counted. And we’d see what happened when I got back. Father always had something he wanted to line up. Taking another interview would probably at least ease the tension. 

Number four, don’t start fights with the family. This was the one most dangerously hanging by a thread. Because I was going to have to talk to them at some point- _actually_ talk, not just dinner talk and political talk- and I couldn’t see it going well. That time was pressing in, too, since the tickets Bunce had gotten us left in the morning. 

The fifth and final resolution, was to show Simon I “cared” (Bunce’s words, delivered with rolled eyes and a frown). I was ignoring that one for my own sake. 

“Vera said you were packing.” 

Malcolm Grimm could be deadly quiet when he wanted to be. 

The fact that he wanted to be put me on my guard. That he must have been expecting a fight too. Or whatever you could call what we did- you needed more said for it to really be fight, I thought, less talked around and erased. 

“I am.” 

He was looking at me, and I busied myself with what I’d already bundled away. 

“Are you....” He cleared his throat. “Are you going alone?” 

“No.” 

I thought I saw him relax a bit then, before he crossed his arms. 

“The Bunce girl?” 

“And Simon.” I was honestly surprised by my own forthrightness. So was father. 

“Hmm.” 

Neither one of us said anything. My back was starting to hurt from the crouch I’d put myself into, so I straightened up. There was nothing to do but look at him. 

He looked disapproving. Mostly confused, like he’d been hit on the head and wasn’t sure where the blow had come from. (That’s generally how he looked when he had to think about Snow, and _me_ and Snow). Then he tensed. 

“You can have your allowances early. Just be smart about it.” 

And he turned away. 

I don’t know why I thought for a second he’d want to talk about it. Like the awful situation I was in was suddenly going to have him open up, the way all the other awful situations I’ve been in haven’t. 

I don’t know why the strange finality in his voice caught me off guard, sounding like this was the beginning of what could actually be a breaking point. 

And mostly, I didn’t know why I didn’t care. 

It wasn’t going to work. And I could be on my way to being disowned (or at least, forced into some government job for the honor of the family). 

But I was thinking about Simon, and every possibility he was. 

I passed the library, and paused before I pushed my way in. 

It might be ridiculous, but I was allowed to be a little ridiculous, I decided. 

I grabbed the violin, and packed it into its case. 

Sometimes. 


	8. Penny on a Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang arrives in Wales, everyone's a bit hard headed, and there's a forbidden trip to the library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm taking a short hiatus before the next chapter drops! I'm just taking the week off to deal with life stuff and catch up with the fic, and then I'll be back. See you in two weeks!

We were all knackered by the time we lugged our things onto the train. Baz most of all, since he brought so many bags- and a _violin_ \- that I should have demanded he bring one of his family’s butlers along too. (He says they don’t have butlers, but I’m certain he’s lying.) 

The boys collapsed into their seats like they were going to fall asleep within seconds, and I couldn’t exactly blame them. If they’d slept as little as I had, they had a good excuse for it. Part of me wanted to fling my head back like Simon was doing, but the same thing that had kept me from sleeping the night before was keeping me wide awake now too. I was going to crash eventually, but the power of caffeine and the knowledge that I was only hours away from Simon’s memories coming back would hold me together until then. 

Baz looked more like a vampire than usual. 

Even when I was arguing with Simon about it, back in school, it had always been hard to argue that he _didn’t_ look like a vampire. It’s a combination of the widow’s peak and the peaky way his skin always looks. 

But I filed a mental note in the back of my head to make sure he didn’t start eyeing small animals (or larger ones, for that matter) any time soon. 

Anyway, there were more important things to be worrying about (as long as he didn’t actually drain anyone- which I’m fairly sure he’s got a handle on, having been a vampire for over a decade already). I’d done a lot of research throughout the night, just to make sure everything was planned and figured out. For the actual finding of the cup, it was simple. I mean, it’s _on display_ , listed on the National Library’s _tourist_ information. So I wasn’t too worried about any of that. 

And I’d been planning on keeping an eye on Simon to determine exactly how well he really _is_ rolling with the plan (since Baz keeps raising issues and acting like he’s going to try to make a run for it any second, which if he is, probably has more to do with Baz than it does with any trip), but so far I couldn’t get much of a read on him beyond “exhausted” and “poorly packed”. He was hugging his single, slightly deflated duffel bag to him like he thought someone was going to rip it out of his arms. Actually, he might have already fallen asleep that way. 

What really needed my attention was the plan of how to get Simon to drink from the cup. And, I suppose, how I was getting the cup out in the first place. But magick would probably make it easy- there aren’t many mages in Wales, and even if there were, it’s not as if Normals know how to secure things against us, or even that they should. Technically, they shouldn’t _have to_ either, since we’re meant to be steering clear of any unnecessary interaction and also not supposed to use magick in any kind of cruel or illegal way, but, well, there are exceptions, obviously. Like, spending time with Simon. Or stealing something for Simon. 

Really, I’ve gone over it in my head so much already all that’s left to work out is exactly what I’m going to say to Simon when I bring it to him. How much to explain, how long I have to wait before I start asking him what he remembers. But mostly, I think, it’ll probably come out however it’s going to in the moment, even if I write some kind of speech. 

I checked my mobile again and frowned at it. 

I’d texted Agatha at least 30 times and she still hadn’t answered. I called her too, even though I knew she wouldn’t pick up. Whenever she _does_ pick up it’s just to tell me to text her instead- well, look how that works out. 

I dialed her number again anyway. Voicemail. 

“Agatha, we’re on our way to Wales, so if you want to come traveling with us, you’ve got to actually answer the phone. And we might come to America. We could come see you, if you can’t make this trip, and then we can all see each other. You can see _Simon_ for the first time in months. I can get the tickets, just let me know if you’re not coming along and I’ll set up a trip over to you instead. Call me back!” 

Baz was giving me a look. One eyebrow raised, lip curled. Classic Baz, minus the not-completely-perfect hair. 

I opted to ignore him, completely avoiding his eyes while I tucked my mobile away again. It didn’t last. 

“ _What_?” I said, because he was still giving me _the look_. And then I stopped him, because really, that wasn’t a good question. “Nevermind, I know you think it’s pointless.” 

We’d already had this conversation three times. Once when we’d decided the trip was on, once before we talked to Simon, and once after. He couldn’t see me pull my mobile out without (loudly) making assumptions. And reminding me, however he could manage, not to tell her too much before anything was certain, or before she was actually on the line- so, according to Baz, never. 

Anyway, just because she hadn’t picked up yet didn’t mean she wasn’t going to. Americans could be odd about their phones. I’d heard something about “phone cleanses” (which sounded completely daft, as someone who’d gone without a phone at all up until last year), maybe she was doing one of those. Or maybe my texts just weren’t getting through. 

“I do,” He agreed, voice flat and crisp. “and we’re not going to America.” 

“Why not?” 

“Yeah, why not?” Simon was suddenly definitely awake. 

It’s not the first time Simon’s said something about Agatha, but it’s the worst reaction from Baz. Every time Simon says anything about her- not that there’s really anything he _can_ say about her on account of not _remembering_ her, or any of us, which is the whole point of this blasted trip mind you- Baz gets more and more annoyed. His eyes were slit and his jaw looked locked, and just enough time passed without him talking that I started to realize that technically I could have answered too. 

I was spared the effort when Baz finally did decide to speak up. 

“It’s just a bad idea. What’s the point?” 

“See the world?” Simon said, and I couldn’t help beaming at him. _Seeing the world_. Finally. Albeit with a few bumps and stops. 

“America is hardly the world,” Baz said dismissively. He shot me a quick look as if he expected me to chastise him for it. Good. “Anyway, it’s not like Agatha wants you to visit her. And it’s not exactly like we’ll all be _catching up_.” 

He shut his mouth abruptly and turned his eyes on Simon instead, who didn’t really look offended at the pointed reminder that he had no possible catching up to do. He did have an odd look on his face, though. I took a moment to file it away, before returning to the actual task at hand yet again. 

“Are we... Aren’t we friends?” I heard Simon ask, and drowned out the rest of what was sure to be a painful and painfully awkward conversation. 

If one of us had just called Agatha his ex I think he would have stopped poking at it as much. But Baz obviously wasn’t chuffed at the idea, and it was too late anyway, to say anything without it becoming a _thing_ to ask _questions about_ and cause them both to get even more tense around each other, and therefore make the _whole group_ tense and uncomfortable. This was a holiday after all, or at least about to be. 

I abandoned my plan to plan after about twenty minutes due to the state of Simon and Baz, and the mood in our part of the train, being completely dreadful. Neither one of them was looking at each other, in the kind of way you can’t not notice. And they were both being quiet in the sort of way that is _very_ loud. 

“Alright,” I broke the silence, rubbing my palms together enthusiastically. “Holiday time! Let’s uh.... Let’s play I Spy?” 

Baz just gave me a look. 

“Uh. Alright. What is that?” Simon asked. 

I wasn’t sure if the question came from the memory loss or if Simon had just never gotten a chance to play I Spy all his life but both options were too depressing to mull over. 

“You just,” I said, ignoring Baz’s still very sour expression. “find something in the train or out the window, and you say ‘I Spy’ whatever and then we try to guess what it is.” 

“I spy... a tree?” 

“Nobody’s really got to _guess_ that, do they, Simon?” 

The tops of his ears turned pink, but he was laughing. 

“Alright, so...” I sat up on my knees and looked out the window. “I spy something tall.” 

“Is it a tree?” Baz drawled. 

“Yes.” I crossed my arms. “And _that_ is how you get people to guess a tree.” 

“Masterfully done, Bunce.” Baz still sounded posh and awful, but, well, that’s Baz, and you tend to get used to it. Ad he looked a little less like he was being forced into a something terrible against his will, so I counted it as a win. 

We both stared at him until he sighed and inched closer to the window. “I spy.... something green.” 

“Is it a tree?” Simon piped up, sounding more excited than the guess, or the game, really warranted. 

“No.” The corner of his mouth flipped up. 

“Is it grass?” I asked. 

“And so bloody much of it,” He said. 

“Hmmm.” Simon squinted. “I spy something... red.” 

I peered out the window, then redoubled the effort, frowning. Baz seemed to be having just as much luck as I was. I pointed to Baz’s jacket, and the red flowers embroidered on it. 

“Is it Baz’s blazer?” 

“Hmm? Oh,” His eyes jumped and skirted over Baz’s whole body when he realized he was looking at his chest. “uh- no.” 

“What is it then?” I demanded, because he was still staring away from Baz, game apparently forgotten. 

He looked up, surprised. 

“Oh, uh, it was that little, um, flag on the tree.” 

“ _Simon_. That was _orange._ ” 

“What?” He looked taken aback. “It was red.” 

“It was bright orange, Snow,” Baz agreed. 

“It was like.... pink!” 

I shook my head. “You might actually be colorblind.” 

“I’m not colorblind!” His face was flushing. 

“Hmm, a bit,” I said with a slight shrug. 

“I’m _not_.” 

We were quiet for a few seconds before Baz spoke up again, not content to let it go. 

“ _Pink_ , Snow?” 

“If you can’t see orange,” I jumped in, no longer able to keep myself from asking. “how do you see your hair?” 

“I don’t-” 

I pulled out a mirror from my bag. 

“Describe it for me.” 

“ _Penny_.” He flinched back from his reflection. “I don’t _know_. And I’m not color blind.” 

“Hmm. Alright.” 

I filed that away too. 

\--- 

Simon looked like he was going to be sick by the time the train actually stopped in Wales. I blame that on him staring out the window the whole ride (probably trying to prove me wrong about the whole color blind ordeal, not that he checked with Baz or I about it). Baz steered him deftly for someone who was cleary afraid to touch any part of him besides the very tip of his elbow. 

When Simon was obviously _not_ about to get sick (thank Magick), he wanted to start exploring. 

“Well, what are we going to do?” He asked. He was staring at the pointed buildings, and I thought he might have been trying to get a look at the ocean (obviously too far away, but it was a good effort anyway). 

“There’s the National Library of Wales.” Half of my planning time had been spent trying to figure out the best way to get Simon interested in something with ‘library’ in the name of it. Already, his eyes were starting to dim like the sheer idea of visiting one for fun, on holiday, was going to exhaust him. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed, at least. Without the threat or genuine bodily harm or failing out, I don’t think he ever would have gone into one in the first place. 

His stomach rumbled, and I had to admit I didn’t hate the idea of getting food. 

“How about breakfast first then?” I suggested. 

We grabbed coffee from the first place we saw that looked like it would serve proper caffeine, and as many pastries as we could carry. I thought Simon might actually go into shock from all the sugar he dumped in his coffee (not to mention the pastries) before I could manage to get him to the library. 

We tossed the cups and I immediately prepared myself for persuasion. 

Simon was yawning. Still. He’d gotten five shots of espresso (something the man making our drinks looked quite worried about), but it didn’t seem to have done much. I kept trying to catch his eye to start the conversation, but he wouldn’t look at me. 

“Simon,” I tried, right as he was saying, “So what now?” 

“ _Now_ ,” I answered. “The Library!” 

He still didn’t look excited by the idea. 

“But...” 

He was looking down at a bunch of papers. I squinted down at them and groaned. He was holding onto a brightly colored pile of those tourist pamphlets places give out left and right to try and get you to spend money where they want you to. Generally only for those not smart enough to plan ahead. 

He was obviously fixated on them. 

I don’t know how he even got them. Maybe he slipped out of sight while I was ordering and nabbed them. Crowley, I’m underestimating him- Simon’s not usually able to give me the slip. And now he’s only half the Simon he was (danger and adventure-wise, of course), so it’s got to be me who’s changed. I was definitely slipping- I took a moment to silently vow to be more serious about not letting him out of my sight. I decided he needed to be treated a bit like a magical creature in the wild, instead of a teen boy (when had he _ever_ been treated like a teen, or a child, anyway really?). 

He said something, but I wasn’t paying attention because I was thinking about magical creatures and Simon Snow the mini-soldier eleven year old. 

“Huh?” 

“Wales by Rail,” He said again, and it still doesn’t make any sense. 

“ _Huh_?” 

He brandished the thing at me, and I can see a flashy image of a train and the Welsh countryside. 

“Wales by Rail, it looks cool. And you get a nice compartment and they feed you the whole time and tell you about what you’re passing. Like a- a big I Spy!” 

I could tell he probably thought he’d made a good point. That alone had me so dumbfounded I couldn’t speak for a solid five seconds. 

“Snow,” Baz said instead. “we were _just_ on a train.” 

“Yeah, but...” 

“ _Just_ ,” Baz repeated. “on a _train_. And that’s just more travel.” 

Simon frowned. 

“What else?” Baz asked, quickly, like he wass trying to undo what’d made Simon stop smiling. Blast it, he _is_ trying, he’s just also not doing it that well. 

“Um.” He stared down at the papers again for a few seconds before popping back up with a new idea. Crowley. “This looks cool!” 

“The Aberaeron Carnival?” Baz read. 

“We’re not traveling to a whole different town, Simon,” I said, and couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. I sort of forgot what a job it is, wrangling Simon. 

Baz kept looking at him with an expression crossed between gentle and exasperated, while casting a few long looks at the pamphlets like he was actually considering it. His face went completely to exasperated when he said, “And it’s a _month_ away, Snow.” 

Simon muttered something at his brochures, face all red and creased. 

“A _month_ ,” I echoed, because, honestly, it’s a bit ridiculous. 

“I didn’t-” He blustered, the redness on his cheeks and ears getting blotchy. “I only- I’m the only one coming up with ideas!” 

This isn’t the Simon Snow about to whip out his sword and decapitate a troll, but it’s just as bad. This is the Simon Snow that normally sets a bunch of things on fire accidentally. He always felt really bad about it later. Most of the time he wasn’t even mad, just upset. Or scared. Or, I guess, embarrassed. That’s what I’d guess this is, but I’ve had less experience with it. Simon doesn’t really have much shame, honestly. Not about anything that doesn’t involve “the good of the world” and his “destiny”. Nothing this Simon can even spare a thought about. 

Baz put his mask up again, all concerned and patient. Diplomat face. I sort of loathe it, even thought it might’ve been working. 

Simon didn’t look like he was about to Go Off anymore at least. 

He did look a bit scared though, and it reminded me of all the times he looked like that right after. 

“What else?” He asked. When Simon didn’t answer, he awkwardly tried to knock his shoulder against his. Painful to watch, really. It made me want to reconsider this whole ‘group trip’ idea- if this was what I was going to have to watch. Though, I reminded myself, once we leave Wales most of that awkwardness will probably go away (not all, I’m sure, I’m not lucky enough for all that and they really have had a strained relationship- putting it nicely). Then I’ll have something else to deal with. Ugh. 

“Come on, Snow,” Baz tried again. “Pick something and we’ll do it.” He paused and rethought that. “Anything happening today, and actually in the city. Alright?” 

It still took Simon a few seconds to answer. 

“Football match?” 

“Lovely,” Baz agreed. 

I still wanted to push the library. It’s ridiculous I couldn’t just wheel them both there first thing. It’s just wasted time at this point. Simon could go to that football match _and_ remember his life again, if they’d only stop being so bloody difficult 

But Simon obviously wasn’t having it. And Baz had obviously chosen sides. (Always bad to have Baz not on your side, though usually still workable, if you had Simon. So I’ve got no choice but to surrender, obviously.) 

The match was starting soon enough that we just headed there. Thanks to getting just lost enough to get turned around, we wound up making it right on time. 

Simon was back to himself. Well, a bit between back to “himself” and back to _himself_ , which felt like a fairly good sign. 

Apparently the match was good. 

Simon was annoyed I hadn’t watched, but we’d spent our whole friendship with me not watching sports and him trying to explain why they were wonderful, so it didn’t bother me much. 

I spent most of it wondering exactly what happens after Wales. Like, does Simon get to keep his flat once his memories are back or are the Coven going to try to pull it out from him? Would Simon care? Was now a good time to move in together like we always meant to or would there be some other investigation because bureaucracy loves to make us all suffer and die of old age? 

When Baz and Simon stood up, I stood up with them still mostly stuck in my thoughts. Then Simon asked, “What next?” and I jumped to it. 

“The National Library of Wales-” I started, and ignored Simon’s look once again. “is _full_ of history and art and we _have to_ go, Simon!” 

My voice might have gotten a bit shrill at the end. Simon flinched backwards. 

“Bunce,” Baz said warningly. I ignored him too. 

“Come on, Simon, it’s _one_ trip to the library,” I said. 

He looked like he might say yes, even though he definitely wasn’t happy about it. “On holiday?” 

“You’re supposed to do new things on holiday,” I pointed out. “Get some culture. Buy some clothes from tourist traps.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind the clothes thing,” He said. 

_“Simon._ ” 

“Isn’t there anything else new and cultural we can do?” Baz asked instead of helping. 

“Yeah,” Simon’s eyes lit up again. So much for saying yes. “Isn’t there anything else to do?” 

“I mean there are _museums_ ,” I said, because I was starting to get annoyed. Actually, I already was annoyed. And considering how subtle I’d have to cast **Come along then** to get him to listen to me and still have it work. And if I’d have to outrun Baz for even thinking about casting anything on Simon. “and _art galleries_. And historic _castles_.” 

I shut up because it’s not helping, but also because Baz was shooting me a look. I realized why a second too late. 

The whole castle thing is pretty absurd to me (is he going to start banning words like _building_ and _grounds_ too? Watford isn’t even a castle, it’s just well made and fairly large). But it obviously frightens Baz, so I was trying not to start any (more) fights. 

“And the National Library of Wales,” I finished, trying to cover up any stumble. 

“How about...” Baz said into the silence. “a cultural pub?” 

I surrendered, yet again. 

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t keep things from going completely to hell. 

“Alright, fine, go ahead,” I said. “but I’m going-” 

“To the National Library, yes, I figured,” Baz drawled. 

I wished, for a second, for the Simon who would have taken any excuse to knock Baz to the ground. _I’d_ hit him, but I already know where I’d stand in a physical row between us. I made a note to revisit all this once we didn’t have to hide our spellwork from Simon. 

I heard Simon whisper something as I started walking away, and then Baz answer in a barely quieter than normal voice, “Well, this is _Bunce’s_ holiday pick. The other places will be more exciting.” 

_‘Exciting’_. I had half a mind to turn back and show him bloody ‘exciting’ but I managed to keep walking thanks to the reminder of what was waiting for me- for all of us. 

The library was bigger than I’d expected it to be, and I nearly stopped just to gape at it before I made it through the door. It had been easy to forget everything _else_ in the building- I hadn’t done much research into it, but I’d seen enough to know I could have spent all day there had it been an actual, normal trip (as if I’ve been on any of those). 

I was a bit tempted anyway, and I had to keep my eyes front not to stop along the way. And then I finally got to the right room, and the right case. 

Nanteos Cup. 

And Merlin, it was it. I mean, it didn’t look like much (after all, it was a _piece_ of a _bowl_ ), but I could feel it. This was going to work. 

I spent the rest of my time at the library trying to get a good enough feel for my surroundings to make notes, and trying to make constant notes without looking like I was obviously trying to steal something. 

I was going to stick around until the building closed, but my stomach was in excited knots that were also mixed together with hungry knots, so I decided to knock off about an hour earlier. 

I walked back down to where I’d left Simon and Baz, not even paying enough attention to realize I’d gotten there before I’d almost walked entirely past it. I walked into the first pub I saw, ready to demand Baz pay for my food. But I didn’t see them. 

But, then they’d never said _what_ pub they were going to. 

I checked out the next closest. And the next after that. 

Snakes Alive there needed to be less pubs. 

I was actually starting to really worry. I shouldn’t have let Simon out of my sight- and I _definitely_ shouldn’t have let him out of my sight without having him tell me exactly where he was going. 

I was ready to start trying out locator spells, blast who saw, when I froze. Simon’s voie was coming from somewhere nearby. 

They were sitting on the ground near the water, looking unfairly relaxed for two people who had nearly caused me a heart attack. 

“What happened to pubs?” I demanded, and they both jumped. (Well, Baz doesn’t do anything as undignified as _jump_ , but he flinched hard enough for it to count.) 

“You were gone for a long time,” Simon sounded apologetic. 

“Alright,” I said begrudgingly. That was true. And they both looked like they’d avoided any trouble, so I was calming back down. “well, I’m starved. Find anywhere good to eat at least?” 

The answer was that Simon had found _every_ good place to eat. Per the very helpful (and numerous) brochures. 

He finally made an actual choice about which to go to after I threatened to throw all of them away. 

I think the food was good (Simon was certainly eating like it was), but I could barely taste it. My brain was inside the Library, running through my plans for the night. I was trying to decide the right direction to come at it from, and the right time of night (I thought I knew when security shifts changed, but was that the same with night shifts?). 

I think that’s probably the only reason I didn’t see that we were being approached. 

And it took another second still to process the look on his face. 

By the time it had sunk in, I had no idea what to do about it- short of jumping on him and hopefully knocking him unconscious, but that wasn’t exactly going to _not_ raise suspicion. 

Alright well, I thought, it doesn’t mean he’s going to _say_ anything, he’s got to know the condition that- 

“You’re Simon Snow!” 

My fork stabbed me in the back of the hand. 

“Y- yeah?” 

Simon looked confused- of course- and a little like he expected one of us to save him. As if I wasn’t _trying_. 

“We need t-” But Baz cut me off (probably for the best, I’ll admit). 

“We’re just trying to eat our dinner,” He said smoothly. His polite smile said ‘kindly will you shut up’, and it was oddly effective. I wondered if he could teach me that. “In private,” He added. 

The boy- he _was_ a boy, younger than us by at least 3 years- threw up his hands in a panicked show of apology. But he didn’t leave. 

“I just-” He took in a breath like he was so excited he’d forgotten how to breathe. “I wanted to say how amazing you are! And I- I knew you weren’t.... gone.” 

He said the last word like it was dangerous. It _was_. 

I was still considering pushing away from the table and getting rid of him myself. 

“Thank you?” 

Our surprise visitor finally scurried away after a pointed look (from me) and the clearest dismissal someone could give without actually saying to leave (from Baz). 

Simon was looking at us expectantly. Which, okay, wasn’t a surprise, but Crowley it would have been nice if we could all have just forgotten about it. 

“Am I....” He started, but trailed off. The tips of his ears were red, but they were already pink from getting confusing admiration from a stranger. 

“Are you what, Snow?” Baz asked. Somehow he made it sound like it didn’t actually matter. Bless him. 

“Am I... I mean. He knew me. But he didn’t- well, he didn’t _know_ me, right?” 

Baz waited silently, and I followed his lead, mouth firmly closed. 

“Am I, like, kind of... famous?” 

“I suppose you could say that,” Baz answered as slowly as possible. 

His eyes went wide. “But- But why?” 

I couldn’t read anything from Baz’s expression. Like, if he knew what he was doing or not, or whether he _actually_ had a good answer. 

“You’re a Vine star,” I blurted out. 

It was something Micah had told me about. I’m not sure why of all things came to mind, but I dug my heels in, ready for the questions. (And just hoped they weren’t going to be more than an approximate hour and a half ever of watching Vine couldn’t answer.) 

“A what?” 

“It’s an online thing,” I told him. “Videos. You, uh, made a few. Before.” 

“Oh.” 

I think he looked pleased at the idea, but it was hard to look long enough to tell, not with Baz shooting daggers at me. 

He cornered me before we left, looking like an overworked babysitter. 

“I thought you were going to stop improvising,” He was talking between his teeth. Not that it mattered much, because Simon obviously wasn’t listening. I think he was looking for the boy who came up to us (luckily he’d already left). 

I shrugged. “Didn’t seem like there was an option.” 

“I could have-” He sighed. 

“Alright, alright, you had a plan. Right?” 

He looked guilty. 

“Ha! You didn’t. Sorry, I mean, _you_ didn’t, and _I_ didn’t, so why not?” 

He looked like he was going to fight me on it, but his shoulders slumped forward and he seemed to give in. 

“What’s Vine?” All dejected. 

“Video, online thing, like I said,” I told him. “Apparently it’s popular.” 

He frowned at me. His hands were twitching like he wanted to put them up to his face, but was resisting the urge. 

“I’ll show you some when I get back.” 

Not that we’d need to do the research by the time I got back. But Baz needed a bit of a push into post-Watford, technology life anyway. He was as bad as The Coven that way. 

“Get back?” 

I gave him a look. “Merlin, Baz, _yes_ , ‘get back’. Don’t you remember the whole point of this?” 

He flinched when I said ‘Merlin’. He’s strung himself too tight, obviously. I mean, I get it. And there’s nothing to do about it now (other than the obvious). He’s bound to be so tightly wound a breeze could set him off until all this is 100%, undeniably over with. 

I did feel bad for him, of course I did. But feeling bad for him (or myself) wasn’t going to get us anywhere. I didn’t linger on it, because there important things to do and I needed the focus- but it _was_ a reminder of all the reason’s Baz personally needed this to work. 

“Alright,” He said in a low voice. “Be... careful.” 

I flashed him my ring. “I’ll be fine.” 

\--- 

I snuck back into the Libray once the dark had settled completely. I think I was was thinking about hiding in the shadows, or sneaking under the cover of night, but really, it wasn’t even necessary. 

It was easy. Easier than it should have been, really, but I wasn’t complaining. No security but one person who was more interested in staring dead ahead than actually looking out, and a direct path back to the cup. 

The only hitch was in getting it out of the case, because I hadn’t been able to test a single spell in the right conditions. It was possible they wouldn’t work with the materials, or they’d trip an alarm, or even that it was somewhat spell-proofed (highly doubtful, but possible). 

_“ **Open Sesame**_.” The case opened. I took a breath. “ ** _Meet me in the middle._** ” 

It bounced out of the case, arcing in the air between us. I managed to slide in and throw out a **Cushion the Blow** before it fell to the ground. We both sunk into the floor, my fingertips holding the edges of it. 

I sat up, looking at it. Nanteos Cup. Right in my hands. I felt dizzy. I had the same feeling, buzzing in his chest- that we were done, we were fixing it, I’d done it. 

I was ready to whisk it out the door again, but something in me stopped myself. My own rational brain coming in nearly a moment too late, to sort things out and save the day. Excitement aside, I still had to do this right. Which meant testing it. 

I looked down at my hand, where I’d stabbed myself. Well, that’s lucky at least. I wouldn’t need a new injury. 

“ ** _Not a drop to drink_**.” 

The bowl filled up with water, a pocket of it where it was still intact. Sea water, if I’d done the spell wrong. Which, I probably hadn’t. 

But I had a feeling now like I had. Or, like _something_ was going to be wrong. I locked it in the back of my head. Not the time. 

My hands were shaking when I brought it up to my mouth, and I spilled some of the water before it had even gotten all the way to my face, but I managed a long sip. 

Not sea water. I was a bit relieved at that. 

That relief kept me from noticing my hand for an extra second. Still throbbing a little. Still injured. 

“ ** _Not a drop to drink_** ,” I said again. 

I took a bigger swallow of water, nearly shoving the whole side of the bowl into my mouth. 

Still nothing. 

My chest was falling. I was still dizzy. 

I glared at the bowl. It didn’t even _look_ right. Not like how it was described when I’d read about it. How could I think it was going to solve anything? It was just an old, broken bowl. 

It wasn’t Nanteos Cup. Obviously. 

“ ** _All things in their place,_** ” I said too snappily, and the thing jerked when it met the case. I let out a long breath, and headed back to the boys. 

We were staying in a room in someone’s house, but they were apparently also on holiday, so there was no one extra to wake when I came through the door. 

I thought Baz would be up waiting. I would have been, if the roles had been reversed. (Actually, I would have gone along with him, if he were the one trying to break into a building and solve all our problems, there was no way I’d be waiting around.) 

But he was laying on the floor near the bed Simon and I were supposed to be sharing. Because he’d never really thought it was going to work anyway, had he? 

Yet. I caught myself. 

It hadn’t worked _yet_. Because the Library was put together by Normals who didn’t even know magickal cups were a thing outside of plain stories. 

Because they obviously had gotten tricked by a fake one. 

I laid down on the bed, head resting against the footboard. There was a whole world out there, and it’s not like there weren’t theories on the internet. We’d keep looking tomorrow. 


	9. Simon Flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang leaves Wales, Simon does some googling, and they touch down in Scotland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! Thanks for sticking with me past the hiatus, I super appreciate it! But also, some not great news. I'm going to be laptop-less for what could be a few days and might be more like a week or two. So we might be in a bit of a hiatus yet again :(
> 
> I'll be updating with Chapter 10 as soon as I can, hopefully it won't be long!

I woke up to Penny sounding annoyed and Baz sounding even more annoyed. I thought about just shoving my head under the pillow and going back to sleep, but I heard my name all of the sudden, and then quiet like they’d started whispering instead. And then I sort of couldn’t _not_ find out what that was about. I guess that it could have just been them remembering I was still sleeping and trying not to wake me up (too late), but if felt different than that. 

I swung my legs over the bed, rubbing my eyes. I didn’t realize I was trying to be sneaky or anything until I got to the door and noticed I was holding my breath. My hand was clenched in a fist next to my hip too, like it gets sometimes when I’m alert or worried (still not sure what that comes from, and I don’t think anyone will tell me if I actually ask). 

“-my Aunt Fiona, Bunce,” Baz was saying. His voice was still more quiet than it had been, but pointed too. “Sound like a good idea?” 

“I don’t _know_ , Baz,” Penny was less quiet. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” 

“Doesn’t-” 

“What’s going on?” 

Baz was looking a bit more like he was about to tear his own hair out than seemed safe, and Penny looked close to storming out, so I interrupting seemed... safer than letting all that happen, I guess. But when they wheeled around to look at me, I wasn’t as sure. 

Penny took a deep breath, and her expression got less scrunched up. She looked more like she had when she’d been talking about the trip in the first place- in charge, unshakeable. It had been nice before, like I didn’t have to worry about anything. I was still worried this time. Partially because Baz hadn’t stopped looking like he was planning on ripping half his hair out. 

“We’re packing up for the next part of the holiday,” Bunce told me, none of that annoyed tone in her voice anymore. “Baz has got an issue. But we talked it out.” 

“Yeah,” Baz sounded like he _still_ had an issue to me. But his expression had kind of smoothed over, and he sounded nearly as normal as Penny. It was all a bit off putting, honestly. “We were just discussing travel plans to Scotland.” 

“Scotland?” 

“Yup!” Penny seemed cheered, at least. 

“But we just...” 

I was pretty sure a holiday was supposed to be longer than a day. 

“There’s plenty to see still, Simon,” Penny said, like she knew exactly what I’d been thinking. “We’re seeing the world!” 

I wanted to ask more about it- like why we couldn’t stay another day, and why she was smiling like that? 

Like, what were we doing in Scotland? Which had been my pick? 

And, why was Baz grinding his jaw? 

What had had them arguing in the first place? 

But I didn’t say a thing. 

Penny pretty clearly wasn’t going to answer anything except something she could rattle off travel plans to answer with- she had her focused face on, and she already had her back turned to me, sorting through the clothes in her bag. 

Anyway, there was something about her that made me not want her attention back on me. It was actually a bit scary. Maybe lack of sleep. 

It took me longest to pack back up- I don’t think Penny unpacked anything in the first place, so it isn’t really a fair comparison. Baz just put all his fancy bath soaps back and did something to his shirt the looked really confusing and took about five full minutes. 

Penny was watching me from the doorway, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t annoyed, and also not helping me a bit anyway. 

“Why’d you throw all your stuff out of your bag in the first place, Simon?” She asked, while I was trying to pull a sweatshirt from under the bed. I’d found it tucked under the couch back in my flat, so I was starting to get used to having to wrench it out from under things. 

“I didn’t know we were leaving already,” I answered, inching back into the light of the room. 

“But, Simon-” I could hear her rolling her eyes. Really. “that still wouldn’t-” 

She froze as I stood up, holding the sweatshirt to me. Her eyes were locked on it. 

I liked the sweatshirt- it was a nice purple, and it felt just familiar enough to make me actually feel like I’d had a life at all before I’d woken up, but not familiar enough to really nag at me (mostly). But I had the feeling that whatever Penny was going to say about it would ruin it, at least a little. 

So I threw it back in my bag and kept my back to her. She didn’t finish what she was saying, but I knew she was still standing there. 

“Cab’ll be here in a few minutes,” She finally said, once I was done with everything but searching for the pair of socks I’d tossed off the night before. 

It was a quieter ride than the ride to the train. Well, actually, maybe it was the same amount of quiet, but just in a. Louder way. Like it was more on purpose. It made me feel a little like sneaking off. Not that I could or anything (we were in a car. I had eyes on me, obviously. And I think it’s illegal to get out of a moving car.), it’s just a feeling. 

I had the dream again last night. It was coming back to me all murky and already half-forgotten, but I knew I had. It always left me with a weird feeling, and I still felt like I was carrying it around. It made me wish there was more room in the cab. It felt wrong to be touching Baz- even this way, just leg to leg. 

Just thinking about it made me kind of nauseous and excited at the same time. The figure, and the anticipation, and the tension. 

Agatha? 

The name didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But not much did. And it meant something to _Baz_ (and apparently something not great) which was really what mattered. 

I thought maybe that could be it. There was something, if I pushed, kind of like a feeling of... wanting? Maybe. Or was that just because I thought there might be? It was getting impossible not to let it all tangle into a huge mess. 

So I closed my eyes and tried not to think. 

I saw the airport come up in the distance quicker than it felt like it should have taken to get there. Penny was muttering something on my other side, and I couldn’t make out any of the words, but it was putting me on edge. It made the whole scary, determined leader thing harder to ignore. 

I missed Penny sleeping over at my flat, not pushing me out the door. Then at least she’d just been talking to talk- now everything felt more pointed, or like we were in some huge rush I couldn’t catch up to or figure out. The Penny next to me, white knuckling the back of the passenger seat like she could force the car to move faster, wasn’t _not_ the Penny I’d gotten to know, but she wasn’t really her either. Or maybe this was more who she was, when she wasn’t babysitting. 

She was the same when we were unpacking all our things from the car. I don’t even think she blinked. It was unnerving. 

“Penny.” We were walking to the already too long line just past the door, and she jumped so badly I thought she must have forgotten I was there in the first place. I tried not to read into that. “What’s Vine again?” 

She stared at me. 

It wasn’t really a question that warranting being asked before getting on a plane (like some of the other questions I still hadn’t managed to ask). But it was the one I’d been thinking about the most. Or, it was part of the thing I’d been thinking about the most. But I wasn’t sure how to ask about the rest of it. 

“What?” 

I couldn’t tell if she hadn’t heard me, or hadn’t been listening, or had no idea what I was talking about. I was almost willing to believe all three at once. 

“What that kid recognized me from,” I tried, and did my best to look her in the eyes while they were still semi-unfocused and not quite pointed at me. “you said it was... pictures?” 

It took her another few seconds to catch up. 

“Videos,” She corrected me, and a little part of me relaxed. Probably not a lie then. 

Not completely. 

She still looked off. More now, actually. If she’d forgotten about me being there before, now she looked like she couldn’t forget for even a second. Her eyes were focused again, and uncomfortably locked on mine, looking like she didn’t really want to be looking at me like that either, but she wasn’t backing down. 

I looked away instead. 

“Sounds cool,” I said, lamely. 

“Mhmmm.” She turned back away from me, facing the line again. Conversation over. It was a bit of a relief. 

I could feel Baz looking at me from behind, but I was doing my best to ignore him. He had barely said a word to me yet, and it was starting to look like that was for the best. I felt uncomfortably close to an argument with Penny if I kept going (she looked ready to snap, if she stayed out of her head long enough, and I knew enough to know there were about a hundred reasons _at least_ not to want that), and I didn’t want to have to worry about Baz too. 

Thankfully he didn’t say anything. But I could feel him looking. 

More than looking. Baz couldn’t just _look_. 

I’d noticed it before, a thousand times already- it had to be a stare or a glower or a judgemental glance, never something so normal as just a look. But ever since we’d left England it was pretty much always the same thing. 

He was always _watching_. It felt like being followed around by a police officer, or a body guard. He’d done it a few times back home too, but now it was constant and it was getting hard to stand there without fidgeting. 

It was all a bit suffocating. 

When they let us through the line and they’d done whatever they needed to do to prove I was allowed to be there (I really don’t get airports, but I guess I don’t have to), Baz fell back. 

Penny whipped around when he cleared his throat. 

“I’m finding a loo.” 

“ _Baz_ ,” She sounded like he’d just insulted her entire family. “ _Now_?” 

Baz just made a face at her. 

“Could you....?” She trailed off when he kept the face on. 

“No. Just- Just figure out where we’re going and don’t get lost.” 

He looked at me when he said that, but so quickly I wasn’t really sure if I’d imagined it or not. It did give me an idea, though. 

Penelope Bunce is intimidating and laser focused, so I was pretty sure even thinking about trying to slip away from her was going to have her breathing down my neck. But she was staring at all the screens flashing places and gate numbers, and barely even looking at me. She still looked kind of out of it, actually. Like she was thinking of about twenty things at once (I wouldn’t be surprised). 

So I took my opportunity and just prayed it wouldn’t end with someone chasing me down. 

I peeled away from the little group of people we ended up squished in with, and sort of tried to hug the walls. I was thinking about spies again, because that seemed like it might help. 

I don’t know why I felt like I was doing something wrong. It wasn’t like a prison break. And anyway, it’s not like they were _actually_ baby sitting me (not legally at least), I was allowed to walk away, I wasn’t about to get arrested or anything. But it still felt like I was breaking rules. I felt a little guilty. But mostly it felt dangerous, and, honestly, a little exciting, getting lost in a crowd of people without anyone paying attention to me. 

No staring. 

No watching. 

And then it just felt disorienting. I had no idea where I was. 

Well, no, I had an idea- sort of. I could feel my chest start to squeeze in on itself like a panic attack was coming on, and I screwed my eyes shut and tried to breathe. It took a few tries, but it worked. And when I squinted I realized I could still see Penny’s hair, not too far away. 

I felt kind of ridiculous. Freaking out as soon as I got a few steps away from Penny or Baz. Ridiculous like pathetic, but also ridiculous like... Well, I must have done more daring things than wander away in an airport before, right? I’m not six. And it felt like, well, I should have been able to do more before I even thought about worrying. 

That didn’t make it actually true, though. It was just a nagging feeling in the back of my skull. 

One that followed me even when I remembered I probably only had a few minutes before Penny noticed I was gone, and I had to figure out where I was going and get there fast. There were a few helpful signs, thankfully, and when my eyes caught something inside a big open doorway, I ran for it. 

There was a big line of phones, all of them better than the flip phone I’d shoved into my duffel and forgotten about. They were shiny and sleek and each one had one huge screen. Most of them were lit up, all bright and colorful, and I had no idea where to start or how to even use one (where are the buttons???), but I knew I needed one. 

“Uhh,” I looked up at the girl standing next to the cash register. She had hair kind of like mine, but more blond and with a streak the color of a strawberry in the front. 

“Can I help you?” 

“I need a phone that can get on the internet?” 

“They can all get on the internet.” She was still smiling in that polite salesperson way, but she looked confused too. I felt my ears go warm. Something else I’d forgotten? 

“Oh. Well....” I was stuck. 

She seemed to feel sorry for me, and came out from behind the counter to help me pick a phone. I didn’t know half of what she was talking about, but she was really nice about it and kept smiling at me so I didn’t feel _too_ weird about it. 

I just decided on the first phone she told me would work and didn’t seem too expensive. 

“Okay so.” I stared at it after she scanned it and pushed it back over to me. “How do I...?” 

She smiled again. “You need the wifi, right?” 

“Yes?” It took me a second to place the word. “Yes.” 

She came back around and leaned over me to touch a bunch of different things on the screen. Then she leaned back so I guess she did whatever it was got me the wifi. 

“Do you need to me do that slower?” 

I nodded, ears even warmer. 

She showed me again, and I still didn’t really follow, but I knew which button was for internet now, so that seemed worth the whole thing. 

She kept staring at me, but I wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance to actually try out the phone by myself (well, without Baz or Penny), and I didn’t want to waste anymore time, so I ignored that. It took me a second to figure out where to type, and then four times as long as it had taken the girl just to type my name in with the tiny, buttonless keyboard. 

Nothing came up. Nothing with “Simon” and “Snow” together, at least. Just some old band and a lot of talk of winter. 

Nothing that had to do with _me_. No videos, either. I frowned. 

“Having another problem?” The girl said, and I nearly jumped. She was still standing right over my shoulder, but somehow I’d managed to completely forget she was there. She was giving me a _look_ and I wondered if she knew what I was thinking, and if she was sorry to have helped me now. 

“No,” I lied. 

“Okay, well,” She clicked away at my screen and typed faster than I could follow. “if you need any more help.” 

There was a phone number up under ‘Cady’. 

“I’m.... I’m not Welsh.” 

She opened her mouth to say something, but she didn’t get it out before I reeled around. 

“Snow!” 

Baz was standing in the doorway. He looked as perfectly put together as ever, but there was something off about him that made me think it was hiding something. There was a pinched line in between his eyebrows, too, that looked completely out of place. 

I only had enough time to slip the phone into my trouser pocket before he strode over, still staring me down. Taking turns between staring me down, and staring down the girl who’d been helping me. I saw her take a few steps back. Probably a good idea. 

“Hi.” 

“I walk away for one second and you have to bloody-” He shook his head, letting out a breath. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. “Why did you run off?” 

“I wanted...” My eyes flew around the shop, and grabbed for something far away from the phones. “a... book?” 

“A book?” He repeated, like he obviously didn’t believe me. 

“A comic book.” I walked over to the display of them, trying to act like I’d been going there anyway. I grabbed one that was just as shiny as the phone in my pocket, and had a group of brightly colored characters huddled together on the front. I showed it to Baz, who was looking at it like it had called him a prat. 

Baz gestured to the counter and once I put the book down, shoved money into the cashier’s hand. Her eyes were huge, and kept flicking from me to Baz and back again. I don’t know why, but it made me want to leave. 

Baz had the same idea. Different reason, though, probably. He grabbed me by the elbow, fingers pressing at me, and pulled me out of the shop before changing his mind and letting me go right outside the door. He kept his hand out, though. 

I stared at it. 

“Just take it, Snow,” He drawled, bored or annoyed or both. He didn’t sound the way he’d looked just a minute ago, when he’d ran into the shop looking for me, like all the emotion had drained away. I couldn’t decide which was real- or which one felt more right. I’d say neither, but there was something... Like a familiar kind of twisting in my gut. 

“Obviously I’m going to lose you otherwise, so.” 

I took Baz’s hand after another few moments of staring at it blankly. 

I thought I saw him look back up at the shop, like he was trying to make sure of something, before he started walking again. 

All boredom aside, there was something about him that made him just as scary as Penny had been. Bodyguard mode, but to the max. His mouth was a thin line, and I thought if I managed to make him start talking, he’d be yelling. I focused on not making him talk. 

He was walking just as fast as before, and I was still being dragged behind him. Thankfully, I hadn’t actually managed to go very far, so Penny was only about a minute away, gaping at us both. 

She hit me on the shoulder, brows knitted together. 

“Simon!” 

“C- Comic book!” I shook the plastic bag in the air as she half glared, half fainted from relief. 

“I swear to M- I mean, I can’t _believe_ you’d _run_ , Simon! You git!” 

“I didn’t- I wasn’t-” 

Baz made a noise next to me. I realized we were still holding hands. He didn’t take his back. But the expression on his face wasn’t soft or anything, just annoyed- maybe he was just holding on to me because he didn’t feel like wasting the time to do it. 

“Both of you need to take a few breaths,” He said, same bored drawl as before, with just a bit of an edge to it, if you listened hard enough. 

“Oh great advice, Basilton,” Penny snapped, eyebrows raised. “thank you for that Pitch wit.” 

He frowned at her. 

“Bunce.” 

She shook her head and did, actually, look like she was taking a couple deep breaths, but didn’t apologize to either of us. 

Baz let go of my hand finally, and I stretched it, trying not to feel like something had been taken from me. My hand felt kind of clammy, and too hot. And it was twitching again, like it wanted to pull Baz back. I shook my head, trying to clear it. 

Great time for whatever romantic impulses I still had buried in my bloody skull to come out. With both the people I’m meant to care just about done with me. 

“Let’s just go,” Baz said, and Penny had her arms crossed, but she didn’t look like she wanted to punch something anymore. 

I trailed behind them for about a second before Baz fell back and put me in the middle. Bodyguard, I thought again. 

Actually, it occurred to me, who said we were dating for real besides him and Penny? Maybe it was just another way of making sure they had an eye on me. Maybe Baz was a sleeper spy. 

Wait... who’s _they_ in this? I wondered. 

I shook my head out again. Focus. On something other than Baz and conspiracy theories and the mobile hidden in my pocket. 

Oh. The mobile. 

I could see people in front of us, as we slowed down into a line to customs, pulling their mobiles out and getting yelled at for _not_ pulling their mobiles out. Baz was still behind me, probably staring a hole through me. 

I could feel the first edges of panic setting in, watching everyone in front of us, and I wasn’t even sure _why_ I was so bloody panicked over a phone I had legally bought. There wasn’t even any good proof that anything would happen if they saw it. 

But I couldn’t shake the idea, once it’d got to me, that they’d get rid of it. Or maybe something worse. 

I wasn’t afraid of them. Not really. Not like, afraid the way you’re afraid of someone who obviously wants to hurt you. 

But that didn’t mean I trusted them, not all the time (not most of the time, lately). And it didn’t mean they _couldn’t_ hurt me, in some way. Honestly, I didn’t want to prove myself right, either. I didn’t want to see it happen. 

I could see people taking off their shoes and dropping them in the big grey boxes with the rest of their stuff, and had an idea. 

When we got close enough for Penny to start taking off every shred of metal on her, I slipped off my shoes, and shoved my mobile in one of them as quickly as possible while Baz checked his pockets. 

Somehow- _somehow_ \- it worked. I even managed to get my phone back into my pocket without anyone noticing. 

I was feeling just a little incredible. 

And I was thinking, again, about what I hadn’t been able to think about much before Baz had come barreling through the door. 

I could feel my face dropping into a frown, and fought to keep it neutral. 

It didn’t feel right. Being apparently popular enough to get recognized, but not popular enough for my name to mean anything? 

Maybe, I thought, I just didn’t know how to search things properly. Maybe it was more complicated. 

I wanted to check again. My hand kept moving closer to my pocket without me actually telling it to, and I had to pull it back to my side. Obviously not the time. 

That same feeling kept coming back, wave after wave, like I had to hide my mobile or something bad would happen. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like feeling like I was about to swing on Penny, or on Baz (even though half the time his face alone looked like he really deserved it). 

And it kept leading me back to _why_ and I kept not having an answer for that, and it didn’t end in any good place except that I don’t remember enough and I’ve got nobody I can ask and honestly, it wasn’t the time to even worry about it because I was tired and hungry and about to get on a plane with them. 

Tired and hungry and about to board a flying metal vehicle might have even been _why_ , for the panic at least. It probably was. 

We squeezed our way to our seats, trying not to fall into each other or bump into the seats because it’s so narrow I could barely move. The seats aren’t much better, either, they’re right up against each other, like there were only meant to be two seats and someone tried to do the maths to get a third in there without making sure a human being could actually fit. 

I wished we were near a window. I liked the idea of seeing the clouds- that’s the only thing I actually knew about flying. Seeing the clouds when you go by, maybe a bird. But we were in the middle (I was in the middle of the middle). 

I was kind of put off the whole thing- the flight, the holiday, the constant being sandwiched between Penny and Baz every time we traveled. But I was trying to shake it off. It’s not like I had good reason. Just... well, paranoia, I guess. 

I still wanted to complain, though, about the seats at least. 

But Penny was already staring at me when I turned to look at her. Staring, like she’d just happened to be boring a hole in my head, hadn’t really been trying to look at me at all. She was grimacing, mouth twisted up and jaw clenched. 

“Are you alright?” 

I saw her take a breath, the slow kind you’re supposed to do when you feel like you’re about to start panicking. It made me take a breath too, immediately a little closer to panicking. 

“I’m fine, Simon.” She gave me an unconvincing smile, and then wedged her arm from between our seats to squeeze mine. “Just... I don’t _love_ flying. I’ll get over it, once we’re...” She grimaced again. “up there.” 

“You just don’t like anything that’s not completely under your control,” Baz said. I remembered them arguing earlier, and sort of tensed myself for it now. But Penny just rolled her eyes. And I realized Baz’s drawl was a little different, less cool. 

I realized he was _teasing_ her. 

I don’t know why that sort of knocked the breath out of me. 

It just didn’t fit. I mean. It did. It’s not like they weren’t friends- or, they didn’t see each other as much as I saw them. Had seen each other before that (with me? and probably otherwise too). But seeing the easy way they talked, like old friends, made me feel really weird. I wasn’t sure why. 

Maybe I’d just never thought about it before. About the history, besides mine. 

It also made me realize how often they talked like they were batting the conversation to me, or away from me. Like I was some central part of every conversation, even the dull ones. 

It was nice, seeing them relax into, well, friendship. 

Just also weird. 

“Do you think they’d let me?” Penny was saying. The conversation had gone on without me. 

“I think you could probably manhandle your way to the pilot's seat,” Baz was saying, in that same voice. “and I doubt you'd let not actually knowing how to fly stop you. You’d probably kill us all, but that never stopped you.” 

Penny let out a bark of a laugh. 

“You tosser!” 

She looked more relaxed, at least. 

Until the people who’d helped us in came out and started talking about crashing and turbulence and disasters. Then she tensed right back up. 

The engine shook to life, and the whole plane felt like it was humming. 

“It might help if you hold on the arm rest,” Baz said from my left side, and he was so close to my ear I jumped. I think I’d gotten so used to him being pressed up against me that I’d actually managed to forget that he was _pressed up against me_. 

“Or close your eyes,” Penny suggested, already closing hers’. 

“It can be.... rough,” He said, and he was looking at me like he knew something. It made me more nervous than the actual plane had. “But Bunce is right, you’ll get used to it.” 

“Um. Alright?” My throat was dry. 

By the time we started slowly moving forward, I was completely ready to have some kind of break down. My knuckles were white on the armrests. 

And then we were in the air. 

And I took a breath. 

It felt... Fine. My heart slowed a bit, and I stopped waiting to panic. It was almost like just sitting in a regular bus, with something else under it. A feeling kind of like floating, without the weightlessness. 

It was nice, actually. And a little. Familiar? 

I craned my neck past Penny, leaned back in her seat with her eyes still jammed shut, to try to see a window. I could see a gap of blue, and then, after a few seconds, white dots of clouds. 

And that feeling was in my chest again, stronger. Familiar. Somehow. 

My stomach was still clenched, even though I was fine. There was a ball of nausea sitting there, like when I smelled smoke. 

I didn’t know if it was the same as a memory, or expecting to freak out, but it stuck around even as I tried to go through the breathing again. 

I wound up pulling out the comic book from the shop, just for a distraction. 

I looked at the cover again, taking it in for the first time. There were 6 kids lined up on it, looking uncertain and but... willing? The word “Runaways” was against the top. I laughed- no wonder Baz had made a face. 

I got a bit more into it than I thought I would, actually. It kept giving me weird not-really-de ja vu feelings, almost like I _should_ have gotten the whole thing even more. Anyway, it made the flight go by fast. 

I only had enough time to think about using my new mobile twice, before we landed. (No wi-fi anyway, I saw a big pamphlet about it stuck in front of my chair, and I didn’t know how I’d pay for it if I wanted to.) 

Penny looked relieved to get off and back to solid ground. She’d relaxed enough to stop grinding her teeth, and even had her eyes back open half the time, but Baz was probably right. She kept muttering something under her breath the whole time, like back in the cab, and when she caught me looking she just told me it was superstition to keep the plane safe. Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought she was the type. 

Anyway, once we got outside completely, (and suffered another cab ride stuck inbetween Baz and Penny) I was pretty relieved too. Edinburgh looked nice. 

It was just starting to get dark, the sun disappearing behind the hills. 

There were people milling about, and tourists taking pictures, and I sort of wanted to be doing everything. Outside of the plane and the airports, it was actually really exciting. _See the world_. That’s what Penny kept saying. It was sinking in, a bit. It felt like it actually meant something now. 

My stomach growled, and I forgot about about 90% of the things I’d been thinking about doing. 

“Hotel then food?” Penny suggested. 

We threw our bags into the big hotel room we were going to share and Penny fell across one of the beds. I could heart her stomach now too. 

“I don’t even want to move,” She complained. “Can we get someone to deliver their favorite food directly to this bed?” 

“No.” 

“You rest, I’ll find somewhere to eat,” I said. There were a bunch of menus on the desk, and I was already eyeing them. 

“You’re going to take _ages_ , Simon,” She said, and I could see her roll her eyes even without actually seeing her face. “Make Baz choose.” 

“He can choose,” Baz argued. “Simon’s pick.” 

I grinned, and he sort of ducked his head away and sat on the other bed. 

\---

“Alright, fair pick,” Penny admitted, already grabbing another handful from the bag of chicken and popcorn on the table. “But let’s not pretend you picked this place for the food and not just because it’s called ‘The Boozy Cow’.” 

“I can have two reasons!” And I laughed, because, honestly, _boozy cow._

I got a milkshake loaded with alcohol because if you’re at a place called ‘the boozy cow’ you’ve got to. No one else got one, but Penny took a few sips off of mine and made a face every time she did (but kept taking sips anyway). 

Penny threw a piece of chicken at Baz and Baz wasn’t acting like a super soldier spy turned bodyguard, and it was _nice_. 

It finally felt a like a holiday. 


	10. Penny, Resistant Tourist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some proper Scottish tourism, a botched itinerary, and too many vine references

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. A month long hiatus???? I'm sorry, guys, but apparently everything getting so clogged up meant I was laptop-less for not "a few days" but _four whole weeks_. We're back on schedule now, though! (fingers crossed)  
> Thanks for coming back!

“Simon, you didn’t drink enough to be this hungover.” I allowed myself a healthy face palm before getting back to the task at hand- pushing Simon Snow out of his bed. 

“’m not hungover,” He whined into the pillow wrapped around his head. “ _Tired_. What time is it?” 

“8am,” I crossed my arms. “People have been up for hours.” 

“Not tourists!” He argued. “Not fun loving 20 somethings.” 

I scoffed. “I am not above pouring water on you, Simon. _We need to go._ ” 

He finally rolled himself off the mattress and out from around the sheets. He looked bad. Grey bags under his eyes bad- but I’d seen him at worse. I wasn’t worried, beyond whether or not I’d have to physically carry him across Edinburgh to get him out of this hotel room. 

In the end, I actually did think I might have to try to carry him. (It would be easier than back at school, he was basically a third of his regular Watford weight still.) He was locked in the bathroom, and I was about to admit that he’d definitely fallen back asleep when he finally opened up the door. He looked off, like he wasn’t sure he knew where he was. 

I decided he probably _had_ fallen asleep. As long as he didn’t have to go through the process of waking up a whole _third_ time I was going to have to take that as a win. Well, actually, in order for anything to be a win I had to get Simon out into actual Edinburgh and not our hotel building, and that was more difficult than it should have been already. 

Baz had gone down to charm the man at the front desk about towels because I think he did something awful to ours (I saw him sneak out the window in the middle of the night and he came back smelling like smoke, which doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent and not at all suspicious’) and now we need more. But he’d come back at some point while Simon was locked in the toilet and I was restraining from spelling the door open and making good on my threat about pouring water on him. His eyes were taking in Simon’s face, scrutinizing it like he hadn’t seen him in years. Or like there was some language there he couldn’t quite read. 

I haven’t gotten used to them. Not “them” like, the two of them being together- that was easier than I might have thought. It’s just the way they act. I suppose if none of this had ever happened- the hospital and all that- maybe I still would have been having issues getting used to how they were acting together. But snogging and gazing longingly at each other is pretty easy to ignore- I already went through that with Simon when he was going on with Agatha, and other than it being incredibly annoying at moments when they were both being irrational and a bit mopey, it wasn’t a big deal. 

No, it’s the whole sense of worry. Baz, acting like he was worried Simon was about to break into a million pieces, or run away. Simon, worrying about Baz looking at him like he was going to kidnap and eat him. 

I keep telling Baz he needs to try and fix it, but I don’t think he thinks that he can. The real problem is, when we get Simon back to how he was, I’m not sure Baz will even let _that_ fix things. I don’t know how they managed to start dating in the first place. I would have expected them to die staring wordlessly at each other, if this is anything to go off of. 

Actually, I would have expected them to die fighting each other to their dying breath. I guess the fighting only works if you’re both up to it. Now it’s like they’re two repellant magnets, instead of swinging towards and at each other at every possible chance. 

Baz said something to Simon (rarer than it should be, so maybe that’s a good omen for the day), and Simon said, “I feel like I look... weird.” 

His ears were turning red, and he was absently tugging at the ends of his hair with one hand. 

I saw Baz start to reach up, but dropped his hand before he actually touched him- of course. At that point I decided to stop paying any attention. It wasn’t like there wasn’t bound to be even more of this later. I should have been able to have a good _morning_ at least. 

A quick morning. A morning with no one making me want to push them into or away from anybody else. 

Too much to have hoped for, really. But they could have stopped dragging their feet if nothing else. 

I waited a few more minutes (or maybe seconds, who can honestly say?) before yelling at the two of them. Simon jumped nearly into a defensive stance, which only made me feel like we needed to get out of the room and start actually searching again even _more_. Baz was just looking annoyed. At me, of course. 

What a time _not_ to have been paying attention to Simon’s every bloody movement. 

Getting them both out of the room involved a bit of bribery (food), a bit of lying (I may have magicked the clocks), and quite a lot of eye rolling and barely restrained shouting, but in the end, all three of us got to the street. 

Simon was peering around like the whole world was too bright for him. He looked that way too, Wales only slightly making him any less pale. If I didn’t know any better I would have thought he’d been under a pile of rock for the past few weeks. Since I did know better, I knew it was almost worse. 

I shook my head, pushing the thought away so I could focus again. That was the only actual way to help Simon anyway. 

“Where are we going, Bunce?” 

I didn’t get a chance to answer before Simon cut in. 

He was pointing at a tour bus, looking suddenly a lot less knackered and lost and more like a kid catching sight of some bright colored sweet. All I could be sure of was that it wasn’t going to mean anything good. 

“We’re going-” I started, mostly just because I was hoping it would stop Simon from saying whatever he was clearly about to. 

Merlin knows _that_ had about half a percent’s chance of actually working. 

“I want to go to the Queen’s Quay!” 

I sighed. Loudly. Baz shot me a look, like _I_ was the making things difficult. I sighed again. 

“Simon,” I started. “Why? How do you even know what that is?” 

“These brochures!” He pulled two out of his pocket, one more bouncing onto the ground. I wish I could have been surprised. 

“Did you knick those from the hotel room?” 

His face flushed. “They’re free, aren’t they?” 

“It’s just a tourist trap,” I told him. 

He frowned. “But _we’re_ tourists.” 

I opened my mouth to argue, but I couldn’t think of anything good that didn’t involve me actually telling him why we were there. 

“And,” He continued, when I didn’t. “it’s historical, isn’t it? There’s the old shops, and... the castle?” 

He looked away when he said it, like he was half-hoping we didn’t hear him. Definitely something I would have wanted to figure out, if my mind hadn’t already jumped to the possibilities of the castle. 

Alright, here’s the thing. I didn’t actually know where I was going. I mean, I had leads and I am excellent at thinking on my feet to come up with brilliant plans in no time, but I hadn’t even gotten _that_ far yet. Being in Edinburgh, so close to all of these different places that may have been hiding Nanteos Cup, was distracting. 

Distracting enough that I had about 50 beginnings to plans- 50 or so leads- but not a single full one. 

And the castle _did_ feel like an idea. Maybe not the best one, but, honestly, you’ve got to start _somewhere_. And, well, alright, it’s holiday. Or it’s supposed to be, for Simon. Might as well make it feel like it. 

“Alright, fine.” 

Queen’s Street was just about exactly what I thought it would be. Baz, however, was a lot worse. 

He’s been pretty bad at controlling his own eyes for a while now, but at least up until this point he’d managed the very eerie, very posh ‘I clearly have no deep feelings except a polite wondering of what you would prefer for tea’ expression. That’s all in the past. 

I kept trying to shoot him looks, and even tripped him a little, to tell him to get control of it. Baz has a look about him that normally makes him look overly-well bred, like a straight spined, probably Torry, member of the upper class. Untouchable, and most likely someone to avoid. And then, there’s the look about him, one most people never see anymore, that makes him look more like the villain Simon always said he was. More like a vampire. Or someone willing to push someone else down the stairs. 

Both those roles fit him. Maybe because he spent all of his teenage years wearing them both like big, identity encompassing jumpers. But the point remains, they looks bad sometimes, but they look like Baz, and I’m used to it enough for it not to really affect me. 

Right now I wanted to get away from him just as much as all of the tourists passing us obviously did. 

The look on Baz’s face was so intense, so determined, I’m certain at least one person must have dialed 999 to report a dangerous stalker. 

His eyes were locked on Simon. Obviously. 

Simon, unlike everybody else in the surrounding area, didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he was just pretending not to, so he could keep looking at paintings of dogs and act like things could still be normal. 

I grabbed Baz by the shoulder. 

“Basilton,” I hissed. “What in _Merlin’s name_ are you doing? Trying to spell him to the spot without even using your words?” 

He blinked at me, still staring, but not at Simon. 

“Don’t- not where he can hear.” His voice was so quiet I could barely make it out. It was also incredibly disapproving. 

“ _Now_ you care about him getting suspicious?” Anyway, Simon wasn’t paying any attention. He was pretty taken by the painting of a border collie he was holding. 

Baz didn’t relax any, but it was easier to ignore for the rest of the walk. And it took less badgering than I anticipated to move them both along to the castle. 

Which was, unequivocally, an absolute waste of time. ‘Historical’. Really... 

If there was anything actually historical here in the past century it’s been put somewhere else and replaced with replicas and the most boring aspects of historical objects. No cup- though I knew that would be the case once I coughed up the pounds and took exactly one step in to the building. 

Simon went in and started looking at things (or pretending to, it’s not like there was actually much to look at) so I had to follow along, but my brain was already thinking about anywhere else it could be hiding. 

Really, it was always going to be a dead end, I knew that. There was a barely any chance that they’d leave an actual relic sitting around, but sometimes people really are as stupid as you think they are. So worth a shot, anyway. 

But not worth the time it took to look around, or the weird looks Simon and Baz were shooting at each other every few minutes. I was half mad by the time we got out. 

Baz was grinding his jaw. I wondered exactly how that worked with the fangs. 

I made a note to ask him, once it was safe. 

I let them lead the way to wherever they thought we were going next, and so got a full view of Baz jumping in between people and Simon, and touching him exactly once, to grab him by the back of the shirt and redirect him. 

Crowely, he’s gotten so much worse. 

If he could just hold on to his sanity and the act for a few more days at the most we would be fine. I honestly don’t know how he managed all those years at Watford pretending not to be a vampire and not to be desperately pining and yet can’t manage a weekend or two pretending not to be... whatever he was, about Simon. 

Especially since he was still obviously trying not to touch him or talk to him the majority of the time, which was, of course, so much more obvious now that he was practically throwing himself at him. I was ready to magick him if it came to it. I wracked my brain for any spell that would make someone calm down without making them drool or pass out. 

I heard Simon say something and then speed up to head down a different street. 

“He wants fudge,” Baz said, without me even having to ask. His eyes were still glued to Simon. 

“Alright,” I said, once we’d located a fudge shop. Apparently Simon saw someone else holding up a block of fudge and just about had a heart attack- he still looked like he might have a heart attack from the way he was looking around at the options. We were only in the shop for maybe two minutes before I stopped trying to be patient and pulled Baz onto the street. He didn’t look even slightly happy about it. Even though his nose had been twitching like mad in there (hopefully not for the reason I’m thinking). “What’s going on?” 

“You’re just going to leave him alone in there?” Baz demanded in an ‘it would be a shame if I sued you for everything you’re worth’ voice. Actually kind of an improvement already, I was prepared for him to shout. 

“In a fudge shop?” I tried and failed not to roll my eyes. “I think he’ll be fine. We need to talk. Apparently.” 

He just gave me a look. 

“ _Baz_ ,” I frowned back, widening my eyes at him. “What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you today? You’ve been acting like a lunatic since we left the hotel!” 

“I’m not acting like a lunatic.” He pulled his eyes away from the shop to look at me. His eyebrows were knitted together, and he looked like he was about to give a speech. Crowley, I don’t think we’d survive the drama of that. 

“Then what do you call circling Simon like a guard dog all day?” I asked. “You nearly bit a tourist’s head off for bumping into him. And I swear you were about to push that bloke who stopped to ask for directions. Actually,” I said, a new thought taking root. “You’ve been worse since that night in Wales.” 

“And what does _that_ mean, Bunce?” He wasn’t looking at me, again. 

“Is this how you show that you’re jealous? Crowley, you must be nightmare to date.” 

“I am, apparently,” He shot, giving me a look from the corner of his eye. He worried at his bottom lip. “That’s not... That’s not what I’m worried about right now.” 

There was something about his voice when he said it. Warning. 

“Is it...” I eyed his teeth. 

He clenched his jaw. “No.” 

I relaxed, just a fraction. 

“Good, that makes things easier. Just calm down and try not to get arrested for aggravated stalking.” I sighed when he looked back towards the shop. Simon’s always had this way of finding Baz in a crowded room, locking on to him. It never occurred to me that Baz did the same thing- but it feels exactly the same. So much that it made me suddenly feel like I couldn’t breathe. “He’s fine, Baz. He’s safe. He’s on _holiday_. We just need to get through this for a little longer, and then everything will be perfect.” 

“Do you actually believe that?” He narrowed his eyes at me. 

“Well, obviously ‘ _perfect_ ’ isn’t-” 

He cut me off. “It doesn’t...” 

He rubbed his hand into his face. He looked bone tired. 

“He’s not. He’s not safe.” 

It was my turn to narrow _my_ eyes at _him_. 

“Are you saying... Okay, no, actually, _what_ are you saying?” 

He threw a look around the crowd, even though no one was paying attention to us, not counting the few people giving us pointed looks because we were in between them and their excessively sweet souvenirs. 

“ _ **On deaf ears**_.” He was touching his pocket- I thought I could make out the slight outline of a wand. 

********

********

It’s a dangerous spell, terribly easy to botch completely and wind up with a lot of temporarily deaf people. But Baz was always maddeningly good at spellwork, and I didn’t doubt that he’d only have picked out a spell he knew he could make work perfectly. So I stopped worrying about anything but the two of us, Simon, and whether or not the overly sugary sweet smell from the fudge shop was going to make me pass out. 

I raised my eyebrow at Baz, who was still holding his breath even though there was no reason to hesitate now. In fact, there was only reason _not_ to hesitate, since the only thing stopping us would be Simon, and he could come bounding out at any moment. 

“Wha-” I started to ask, right as Baz said, “Someone’s looking for Simon.” 

“ _What_ ,” I demanded, for real this time. 

“More than just someone,” He said, talking faster now. “They think it’s a group. I don’t know how many. But they want _something_ from Simon. They want to _use_ him, I think.” 

His jaw tightened again, and mine did too, at the thought of it. 

“A group?” I asked, then corrected myself. “No- _who_ says?” 

“The Coven.” Not a surprise, except that it was. I hadn’t expected them to put much thought into Simon now that they’d written him off completely, and I don’t know how Baz would have gotten any new information from them. 

I had to bring that last point up, actually, because I couldn’t stop picturing Baz getting slipped some Coven gossip in the middle of Scotland. 

“They were talking about it before,” He said. 

“‘Before’ meaning before the trip?” 

“‘Before’ meaning before Simon was awake,” He said, and there was that thing in his voice again. Something dangerous, mixed with fear and maybe guilt. It made my skin crawl. It made me want to grab Simon and run. 

I took a breath instead. 

“It was just one incident,” He plowed on before I could say a thing. “One person trying to take Simon out of his room, back in February. There were a lot of people, then, people who thought The Coven should have been doing things differently. Like letting him die. Or trying to compel him awake.” Disgust lowered his voice. “Nobody knows what this one wanted, only that they were in Simon’s room, trying to unplug him from all the machinery.” 

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Then I bit my tongue, because the answer was obvious. That was exactly the kind of information my mother was probably trying to keep from me- rumours, threats to Simon. “Oh. Nevermind that. But why didn’t _you_ say anything then?” 

“I didn’t think it was a problem,” He sounded bitter. “It just seemed like one mad man who’d given up before they even managed to do anything. And it never happened again.” 

“So why are you suddenly so worried about it _now_?” I asked. “If that was the last you heard about it?” 

He shook his head. “It’s a lot of rumours, Bunce. Too many rumours to pin down any truth, but too many for there to be _no_ truth to them. The Coven said they were investigating, but I doubt they did any more than ask their contacts if they knew anything about it- if they even did that. None of them _care_.” His eyes were blazing. 

“So you think there’s some plot against Simon,” I tried to piece it together. “to do _something_ with him, or to him, but you don’t know what, and you don’t know if anything happened in the past five months or not.” 

“It’s _real_ ,” He insisted, looking like he was restraining himself from yelling. 

He caught the look on my face and I was sure he _was_ about to start yelling. 

Plots against Simon, that wasn’t unexpected, nothing new. It was certainly possible, with the way Simon’s entire _existence_ had gone up until now. But this isn't Watford. This isn’t The Chosen One, on his way to save the World of Mages. This Simon has no reason for anyone to care about him, apart from us. 

“He might not be what he was before,” Baz said, like he knew what I was thinking. “but he’s still Simon Snow. He’s still.... He’s still the reason you can’t do magick in certain parts of England.” 

“You think they want revenge for The Humdrum?” My voice pitched up. Oddly enough, I’d never actually thought that was a possibility. Partly because no one was supposed to know that specific detail of what went down back in December. “How would they have even found out about that?” 

Baz gave me a look that reminded me too much of a teacher disappointed with a stupid question. 

“Just because it’s _supposed_ to be a secret doesn’t mean it is. Do you really think that not a single person overheard, or got too chummy with a loose lipped member of The Coven, or just, Crowley, _figured it out_? It was already a rumour, you know- that Snow was behind it. Or that The Mage was. The Families were closer than they knew. Who says they stopped wondering about it? Making plans?” 

“Then wouldn’t you know?” I pointed out. “I thought you were basically a prince with your lot.” 

He sneered. “You really think they’d share their plans to kidnap Simon Snow with Simon Snow’s boyfriend?” 

He had a point. 

“Okay,” I decided. “Maybe not. And maybe this is an actual threat- we’ve dealt with them before, right? Thousands of times, actually. And if they haven’t managed to do anything yet then they’re low priority. If they’re planning anything at all. It’s nothing we need to be worrying about.” 

“Believe me or not,” He said, eyes shooting back up to the door of the shop. Time was running out. “but we’ve already had one person try to get to Simon since we started this trip, and I’m not about to relax even if it _is_ a rumour.” His tone said he wasn’t about to consider that a possibility for a second. 

“Are you talking about that kid in Wales? He was hardly a _threat_ , Baz.” 

“I don’t know,” His lips were turned in a determined frown. “if these people want to kill Simon, or make him the new Mage, or just get his autograph- whatever it is, I don’t want them near him.” 

Arguing wasn’t about to change that, that much was obvious. 

“Alright. Just try to do it without looking like a psychopath, could you? You’re not trying to scare him into running into the arms of a relaxed looking kidnapper.” 

He was interrupted by a shadow from the doorway before he could answer. He tensed. 

Simon had five bags in his hands. 

“They had so many choices!” 

~ 

Baz is in a state. I supposed I should’ve been too, but, honestly, my brain was still mostly stuck on my list of possible places for the cup to be hidden. And partially on the possibility of mysterious kidnappers trying to get to Simon. (That was still a piece of the puzzle, small as it might have possibly been, and deserved at least some mulling over.) 

So, really, Simon having somehow found access to the internet was less worrying than most of the other things we had to think about. 

Baz disagreed. 

He’d already gone off on me about the lie I told about Simon being famous approximately thirteen times. I think he just has no idea what to do with himself. 

What happened, as far as I can tell, is that when Simon wandered away at the airport he bought himself a new mobile for no reason I can think of, and kept it a completely secret up until he took it out while Baz was asleep and woke him up by accidentally blasting the speakers at him. 

I left Baz with him because Simon was tired and I wanted to hit as many possible locations as I could anyway with less people slowing me down, and I figured that after the way he’d been, and the threat he was worried about, he’d be fine to keep a frighteningly heavy eye on Simon by himself. 

I’m honestly more surprised that Baz fell asleep than anything else. 

But I’m also quite surprised that Simon managed to _buy a mobile_ and get it working when we’ve been shadowing him quite literally 24/7 _and_ he needed four full lessons to learn how to make tea properly only weeks ago. 

Anyway, it’s still not as world shattering as Baz was putting on. 

It’s not like there’s much on the internet that could mess with anything we’ve told him. It’s not like he’s going to do a search online for his family- he wouldn’t find anything anyway. The only actual problem is (Baz is right, which I refuse to admit to him) the lie I told him. And I didn’t have to wait long for him to bring it up. 

“What was the site you said I was on again?” He asked. “Vine?” 

“Yeah,” I was prepared this time at least, the words ready. “but it was awhile ago.” 

He frowned at his phone. “What was my name on it?” 

“I don’t know, Simon.” I shrugged, like it was an ordinary, slightly annoying conversation. 

“But wasn’t I popular? And you’re my best friend.” He closed his mouth, like he’d said more than he wanted to. “I just mean. Alright.” 

“You were popular,” I told him (can’t exactly take that back at _this_ point). “and obviously I knew what it was before, but it really was a while ago. You deleted your account anyway.” 

It was the obvious lie, and the hardest for him to find any evidence against. I just wished I’d thrown it in when I first told him about his pretend fame. 

“Oh.” 

“We were both into it for while,” I said after a second, because he didn’t look convinced. “but you got tired of it.” 

“You were into it too?” 

“But we got tired of it,” I repeated. “Gave it up.” 

“Hmm. Alright. Thanks.” 

And for about twenty minutes it looked like it actually might be that easy. He dropped it, at least, went back to his mobile. And I ignored Baz’s vote to get the phone away from him because at this point, well, it would probably have done more harm than good. Baz grumbled when I told him as much, but he gave up going on about it, so I think he figured the same, once he actually thought about it and stopped worrying. 

But then Simon kept doing odd things for the rest of the day, like it was absolutely _not_ over. I had to assume it had something to do with the phone, or the conversation, but I couldn’t for love of magick understand how. 

There was a manic energy to him that hadn’t been there before- hadn’t been there since he woke up at all, I think- and I don’t think I noticed how much he wasn’t really talking before, but suddenly I couldn’t help but notice it because he was talking _constantly_. And nonsensically, at that. 

I was travelling with _two_ lunatics. 

He kept pointing at signs and saying, “I sure hope they do!” in a weird voice, and then staring me down. Unnerving. And a bit worrying, I’ll be honest. 

He nearly gave Baz a heart attack too, because he kept saying “run” every time we passed an umbrella, and Baz kept actually getting ready to run. I’ll give him a pass on that, since I know what it’s like to follow Simon’s instructions on instinct when it’s battle time. 

By the end of the day I was relieved when it turned out to be just me going to the museum and the catacomb tour, since Simon wasn’t interested and Baz wasn’t going anywhere without Simon. Actually getting to focus on the task at hand felt like a nice break from whatever the rest of the day had been. 

Didn’t make it to that point without wanting to tear my own hair out, though- because I’d happened to realize that I might have actually made a terrible mistake (and boundless more the whole day, which was too much to think about, so I didn’t). 

I dropped Baz and Simon, still being confusing and loud, off at the hotel with just enough time to spell my shoes more comfortable behind my bed, and for Simon to accidentally hit me with a piece of paper he threw. While shouting something. 

I groaned, because I couldn’t help it. 

Honestly, without the summer in America with Micah I would never have actually caught on to it. America and Normals are _weird_ and so is the internet, and I don’t understand how Micah deals with it. But he gets on well enough, and he did actually show me some of it last year, like some of those videos on Vine. The most popular ones, he told me. 

I wondered, in the back of my brain, whether “yeet” was a spell in America. 

And then I fell out of the door as fast as I could. 

Merlin. He was _testing_ me. The arse. 

And worse, I was actually failing it. 

Why couldn’t I have just left myself out of his fake Vine career? Now he’d spent hours trying to see if I reacted to something I had no clue about, something I was supposed to be at least as well versed in as someone who’d just gotten introduced to it _an hour or two ago_. 

I pushed it out of my head best I could, but it didn’t stay. Especially not when the museum was a bust, or while I was waiting for the catacombs tour to start. The catacombs just made me think about Simon following Baz through the ones back at Watford, and I found myself actually missing when a possible vampire was the biggest threat I had to deal with. Other than, well, a world destroying monster. But, really, we’d gotten used to it. The Devil you know. And, anyway, it was the two of us- three of us, most times. 

Now Agatha couldn’t be arsed to answer her phone. Or even come see Simon after a coma. 

Not that he knew who she was. 

I shook my head. Not the point. The point was- he was suspicious. And he was bound to catch me in a lie for real, now they he knew he could. 

It was a mater of time. 

I just had to be quicker. 

The catacombs tour ended as disappointingly as it started, and I dragged myself back to the hotel. It was empty, just a note on the unused dresser about Simon wanting to go back to the Boozy Cow. 

I collapsed on the bed. 

I could see maps in my head, paths every which way. I could see Simon as he was, Simon as he is. Simon making videos for some Normal’s phone camera. I wanted to be somewhere else already. I wanted it fixed already. 

I fell asleep making a hundred new plans. 


	11. A Bargained Day for Simon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny leaves the boys to themselves, Simon lives his tourist dreams, and certain feelings become impossible to ignore

Baz woke me up in the middle of the night. My first thought was that something had happened, like someone had come for us. I was still mostly asleep and for a second it felt like that’s what it _had_ to be. My whole body tensed up, ready to _move_. But I’d woken up enough to shake it off by the time I managed to get one of my eyes open. 

It was dark still, and it didn’t feel like I’d actually gotten to sleep at all. I could just barely see a red glow coming from where I thought the alarm clock was, but I would’ve had to sit up to read it, so I didn’t. Definitely not day time yet, though. I groaned, and started closing my eyes again. 

Baz shook me, just a little. He’d already been shaking me before, I guess, when I started waking up, but I hadn’t even really noticed. 

Now he was shaking me again, both hands gripping my shoulder, and I still wasn’t sure I wasn’t dreaming. 

“Snow,” He said it in a low voice, like he was worried about waking me up- as if he wasn’t the only reason I wasn’t asleep. “Simon.” 

He was still shaking me, so I grabbed his hand. He stopped- froze, really. I could feel his knuckles in my palm. 

“Simon.” A little louder now. I guess he was sure I was awake, not so worried about trying to whisper. 

“Mmm wha?” My mouth was pushed up against the pillow. 

“Bunce wants know if-” 

“Are you ready to leave?” I heard Penny cut in. 

“Do you _want_ to leave?” Baz corrected. His tone was harder than it had been just a second ago. I had the feeling they’d been fighting. 

“R’now?” 

“As soon as we can,” Penny answered. 

“Or,” Baz started, but he didn’t say anything else. 

“Wanna stay,” I told them. “Wanna sleep. And stay.” My brain surfaced just long enough to remind me of the night before. Baz and I, and something like this. “I _told_ you.” 

“I know.” Baz moved his hand off of my shoulder, and I heard him take a step away. I pulled the blanket over where his hand had been. 

Baz had been saying.... _something_ about this, when we got dinner. I didn’t really take it seriously then. I mean, not really. Penny definitely liked to have a schedule, and the Wales trip had been short, but warning me felt like exaggeration. 

“She’s going to want to keep us moving,” He’d said, leaning towards me over the table. He’d sounded tired, but also weirdly determined to get it all out, like he thought he was taking some risk. “she likes to rush to the finish line. Some people go on holiday to rest, Bunce is going on holiday with a checklist and a stop watch. This is _your_ holiday, Snow. That means you need to put your foot down sometimes.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Honestly, I’d felt a bit defensive, like I had to protect Penny. 

“Just...” He had a weird look about him. Not like he normally did- all cool and sharp and threatening- a little more like an actual person. Almost nervous. Or maybe guilty. “You like Edinburgh, right? You don’t want to leave yet?” 

“Well, no. We’ve been here a _day_ , Baz.” 

“Alright.” He leaned back in his chair again. “Alright, then we’ll stay.” 

“But the plane tickets-” Penny said. 

“We can change them,” Baz cut her off.. 

“But we _planned_ -” 

“That was poor planning then, Bunce,” Baz shot back. “Particularly for _four in the morning_.” 

It was quiet again, for long enough that I almost fell back asleep. Then I heard them pick it back up, voices harder. Less contained. 

“Okay,” Baz said, and he sounded far away suddenly. Like, in the next room, but also underwater. “now you’ve heard it from me _and_ you’ve heard it directly from Simon. Can you drop it now? Merlin. For a _night_.” 

“I’m not going to just sit around when I could be _doing_ something,” Penny insisted. “and I don’t understand how you can even think about lounging around Scotland when we’re so close-” 

“‘So close’ doesn’t actually mean anything, Bunce,” He said. Then he sighed, and sounded a bit softer. “I don’t know if you’re right or not, but I _do_ know that Simon Snow is in our hotel room right now, on holiday. This is his trip, isn’t it? That’s what you kept saying.” 

“It... is.” She sounded like she was going to argue. 

“Let him rest. Let him do the touristy things you hate.” 

Penny didn’t answer right away. It was awhile before she said, “I need to keep looking.” 

Half of what comes out of Penny’s mouth sounds like she’s about to start a fight, or make a list of everything you should have already known. It should probably bother me more than it does, but I kind of like it. Anyway, right now, this didn’t sound like a fight. 

“I know.” Baz didn’t sound angry anymore either. “I’m not surprised you can’t sit bloody still for two seconds. But don’t drag him along too, not when he doesn’t want it.” I couldn’t hear anything when he paused, but I could imagine him sighing. I imagined him looking a bit like he did when he took me in his house and we sat by his violin. Open. Scarily open. “Please.” 

I didn’t hear what she said back, it was getting too hard just to stay awake. I must have fallen asleep again, because the next time I opened my eyes it wasn’t in the dark. 

I had a smudged up memory of that room and the doorway, and a memory of Baz shaking me by the shoulder, telling Penny to listen to me. I think they started blurring in my brain, because when the dream started echoing in my head, like it nearly always did when I woke up, I realized I wasn’t just seeing a figure anymore. My brain was trying to make it Baz. 

Maybe I needed more sleep. 

But I probably shouldn’t push my luck. Whatever time it was, it was definitely later than Penny wanted me up. And maybe all Baz did (if that conversation was even real, because it was really starting to feel like I’d dreamed at least half of it) was get me a few extra hours before I needed to pack back up. 

I forced myself to sit up. 

I was alone in the room. 

It gave me about a hundred feelings at once, just knowing that. Like, scared, honestly. Confused. Excited, relieved. And there was something familiar about it too, even with how jarring it was after days of being shadowed. 

I breathed in deep. It smelled nice too. Like some sort of spice, but sweet. It made me relax again, for whatever reason. Made the nervous parts of my brain stop. 

I got up and peaked around the room for a glimpse of Penny or Baz, but I didn’t see anything. Not even a note. Once I’d pulled some clothes on, though, I sort of figured it out. At least, one part of it. 

The bathroom door opened, and the whole room got warmer, and nicer smelling. Baz was standing there, hair all wet, red shirt buttoned only about halfway up his chest. He had his hand to the next button, but he’d stopped moving. 

“You’re up.” 

“Uh. Yeah.” 

I turned away and started folding the covers up on my bed just to give myself a reason not to look at him. It sort of knocked the air out of me. 

“Where’s Penny?” I asked, once I had absolutely nothing else to do with my hands, or my eyes. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” He said. “Prague?” 

I looked up at him, and it was a little less of a surprise this time (I could feel my ears go hot anyway). I couldn’t tell if he was joking. 

“Maybe Italy?” 

“Baz.” I stared at him. “ _What_?” 

“I told you,” He pulled on a jacket, not looking at me anymore. “she likes to stay on the move. She’s checking some parts of her list off by herself and saving us both the pain of being dragged along.” 

“But it’s- it’s _our_ holiday, isn’t it?” The idea of her cutting me out of it stung, even if I didn’t know where Prague was, or what you were supposed to do there. 

“But Bunce picked most of the stops,” Baz answered. He still wasn’t looking at me. “Too many, actually. So she’s taking some time at her own pace so that we can relax.” 

He looked up, finally. 

“Are you disappointed?” 

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t really know what I was supposed to say. I didn’t even know what I _wanted_ to say. Whether or not I was more upset about Penny leaving in the middle of the night, or more glad I was sitting there. 

Baz’s eyes changed. “You want to stay.” 

Not quite a question, but definitely a question. 

And, yeah, I did. I wanted to lay back down. I wanted to see Scotland. I wanted to spend time with Penny, when she wasn’t racing off, and Baz, when he was he more like this, less intimidating. And I was remembering the way I’d overheard them the night before- pretty certain I didn’t dream it, now. 

He was looking at me like he wasn’t sure about any part of me. Like his almost frustrating (alright, not really _almost_ ) confidence was for everything _but_ me and what I wanted, or felt. But he’d fought for me, when it came to it. Because I told him I didn’t want to leave yet. And that was enough, apparently. 

“Yeah.” I took a breath. “Thank you.” 

He didn’t say anything back. A relief, honestly. I didn’t know what to do with this Baz. We were sort of skating around each other. I didn’t know what would happen if we stopped and had to actually look each other in the eyes. 

But maybe that just wouldn't happen. 

If we were going to be like that, _those_ people, who talked and were soft with each other and got closer than partially sharing an armrest on a flight, it would have happened already. (I was assuming it hadn’t already, and I’d forgotten. I didn’t like the thought of it. Didn’t like the alternative either. It was bloody difficult to work out, really.) 

Anyway, we didn’t speak much while he finished getting ready and I pulled on an outfit in the bathroom. I was finally getting used to the idea of Scotland again- the idea of almost not having this, and getting to have it for a whole more day at least- so it got easier to ignore. 

Then Baz looked up at me and my chest stuttered. We were both ready to go. For me, that just meant I had clothes and my trainers on, and I’d slipped my mobile into my pocket. (Penny didn’t seem to be too upset about me having it, and she didn’t try to take it away or anything, but I wasn’t about to assume Baz felt the same way. I saw the way he’d looked at it when he first spotted it.) For Baz it meant a lot of weird rituals with his hair, and some actual ironing. I didn’t think blokes ironed. Maybe it was just Baz. Or maybe I just really didn’t know much. (Probably that one.) 

“Oh, by the way,” He grabbed something off the table next to his bed. “Bunce left you a note.” 

_“Simon - don’t sleep your whole day away just because I’m not there to wake you. Sorry I had to leave in the middle of the night- plane tickets **are** important. I’ll see you soon, promise! I’ll let you know where we’re meeting up once I finish things over here. Drag Baz somewhere ridiculous._

_Penny”_

I grinned at it, then up at Baz. He was already looking at me. 

“So, Snow,” Baz said, polite as ever. But it didn’t feel the same as before- like a politician. But it could have just been me, thinking about the night before. Or the dream. Or whatever was going on in my head. “what do you want to do with your freedom?” 

I felt myself grin. 

“Everything.” 

~ 

Once we were out of the hotel and I had room to breathe, and places to look that weren’t my shoes or Baz, it was hard not to get swept up in it all. 

‘Everything’ had wound up meaning a big breakfast, heading back to buy more fudge (I was already half finished with mine), pulling Baz into the park to see what all the little stalls people had were about, and this: a hike. 

It was nice. 

It wasn’t like being with Penny (pre-holiday), where you could just sort of relax and know it was fine. And it wasn’t entirely like how it normally was, being around Baz. Something in the middle. And never the same middle. 

It’s hard to read Baz, when he’s not looking at you like he’s a completely different person. Like, there were plenty of times I felt like I was just pulling him along with me, because he didn’t look like he was having any fun. But he never complained, or said anything rude about it. I caught him smiling a few times too. 

And now we were on Arthur’s Seat, hiking in the middle of the day, and he looked bloody miserable more than half the times I turned to take a good look at him, but every time I asked if he wanted to go back he told me no. 

“It’s just a lot of sun,” He said. “it’s fine.” 

“You look like you’re dying of the heat,” I told him. 

“I’m not undignified enough to die on a _hill_ , Snow,” He answered. 

“A mountain then?” I suggested, trying not to smile at him like an idiot. 

He scoffed. “Huddled for warmth? Hardly.” 

Then his face fell back into the distant, blank _whatever_ it kept going back into, and I tried not to curse at him. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. Other than that Baz was my only company today and I’d rather spend the day with a person with a personality and a sense of humor than a piece of lino. 

But, I can be honest about it- that wasn’t really all of it. I don’t know what the rest of it was, though.. And in the middle of hiking up a hill didn’t seem like the best place to be thinking about it. 

“So,” I said, watching Baz from the corner of my eye. He still had the same expression on his face. Like the loading screen on the hotel’s television. “what did _you_ want to do?” 

“What?” 

“Well,” I shrugged. “I dunno. You asked what _I_ wanted to do. But. Obviously, for you it wouldn’t be _this_. Or anything else I chose. So you must-” 

“I don’t.” He said it so quickly there was no arguing with it. He looked more focused on falling than he did talking. He was bloody graceful normally, but there was something about the sloping paths and all the rocks that kept making me think he was going to trip. Or maybe he was just distracted. Not really interested in Arthur’s Seat, obviously, so maybe he was mentally somewhere else, and his body was left trying to figure out how to move. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, Snow.” 

“So you _want_ to be climbing this hill,” I said, frowning, because there was no way that he actually did. 

“I want to be doing whatever you’re doing.” 

I only caught his expression for half a second- eyes big, mouth ajar- before he turned his fac away. He cleared his throat. 

“I mean, I’m spending the day with you,” He said. If you weren’t listening hard enough he sounded perfectly normal. “whatever you pick is fine.” 

Alright, it’s stuff like _that_ that makes this all so. _So_. 

Confusing. I guess. 

Frustrating, most of the time. 

Because, it’s not like I expected a different answer. Didn’t want one, I don’t think. It’s hard enough reading Baz without him suddenly acting completely different. Like he can do more than just stand me. 

But then he goes and says something like ‘I want to be doing whatever you’re doing’ like we’re in a sopping romance movie, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to take that. 

We’re dating. Right? 

It’s a hard thing to remember. (Hard not to think about constantly, too.) 

But then he takes it back anyway, like it was a mistake. Or _I_ was the one making a mistake, reading it wrong. Probably just afraid I’ll think he’s got the ability to be soft. 

“Do you want to keep going?” He asked. Voice like a telephone operator. 

I resisted the urge to just grunt at him. Couldn’t make the words come out of my head, or untangle themselves from the mess of _Baz_ and whatever was going on with me. 

“Sure.” I could hear my own voice sounded just as stilted. 

Anyway, it was probably the right answer. Baz’s skin looked like it was turning gray. That didn’t seem healthy, or like something either of us should have ignored this long. Still kind of glad we did, though. For a while. 

I couldn’t get my head on straight for the whole way back. 

Here’s, objectively, what I knew. Basically, Baz was the most attractive person I’d ever met, Baz was apparently my boyfriend (still no idea how that managed to happen), and he was maybe about as interested in me as he was the decorations in our hotel. Other than watching me like he expected me to get kidnapped, or expected me to run. But he was doing that less today. Mostly. 

And he had a personality sometimes. A pretty good one, surprisingly. Even if it only came out once every few hours. Or in the middle of the night, while fighting with the only other friend I had. 

And, sometimes, like on our way up the hill, it felt like maybe he was watching for _another_ reason, but only for about half a second. 

I know if I brought it up to Penny she’d say I was being a complete git about it, because it’s _normal_ for your boyfriend to look at you like they actually liked you. But it wasn’t normal with Baz. So. 

We got into a cab, no one talking but the cabbie. Baz was staring out the window. I think I was staring at Baz. 

I know it’s a stupid thing to be thinking about. Worrying about. Like, the idea of it. 

But I also can’t let myself forget about... Well. I can’t pretend that we were a good couple, before. That I was a good boyfriend, at least. And maybe Baz couldn’t either. 

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I didn’t like to think about it- especially since I didn’t know anything new, or anything actually, definitely real. 

Just the figure. The feeling of it. The way Baz looked at me like he wasn’t sure he knew me. 

It made my throat feel hot. 

But mostly it made me think that maybe the reason he was trying, at all, was just guilt. Like, maybe we’d fought and then I got into the accident and now he’s trying to keep me from feeling bad about it, or from finding out what I did, or he just doesn’t want to be a complete arse to someone who’d gotten run over _and_ lost their memory. 

(I wouldn’t blame him, though. If he was.) 

Baz gave me a look, eyes narrowed like he was asking a question. 

It took me a second to realize we were back. 

He kept his eyes on me, even though the car was stopped and the cabbie was waiting for someone to pay him. 

It was like, half-question, half just _looking_. Not like he normally does. Baz has some seriously scary ways of looking at people- right intense. But this time, it was just. Looking. 

I slid out of the backseat, face hot. 

I followed him up to our room, mind in so many different places I didn’t even know what I was actually thinking anymore. I let the door close behind me. 

He turned to me, pulling his jacket off. His shirt lifted up a little so I could see a thin line between that and the top of his trousers. 

I stared at the wall. 

“I’m going to shower,” Baz said with a sigh like it was the most frustrating thing that could have happened to him. 

“Alright.” 

“You can take one after,” He said, and I was pretty sure it was a pointed remark about how I needed a shower. For some reason that actually made it easier to look at him. 

He was giving me the kind of look I saw him give Penny a lot. Eyebrow raised pithily. 

“Alright, yeah, I’ll take a shower, don’t worry.” I laughed. 

I saw him smile before he turned back to the bathroom. 

I like Baz like this. 

That’s the obvious part. The _really_ obvious part. 

The rest of it. Well, maybe that can wait. Right? It’s not like he’s asking me to... anything, really. 

I just wished it was easier to get this Baz, and not the other one who didn’t crack jokes or say anything to me that wasn’t polite. 

I sat on the bed, then leaned back so I was laying across it. I could hear the shower running. I closed my eyes and listened to it. Thought about Baz. 

Thought about how I didn’t know anything about my own life, didn’t know if I was supposed to be able to trust Baz- or Penny-, didn’t know who exactly I was supposed to be. It was always in the back of my head. Always waiting to pour over so I couldn’t think about anything else. 

I pushed my hands into my eyes, and made myself stop. 

Penny’d said the holiday would help me relax. Give me time to think about other things, not have to know anything. 

I wanted that. 

Baz came back out of the bathroom, already dressed, hair loose and wet all over again. My lips quirked into a smile as soon as I saw him, even though I didn’t mean to do it. He grinned back, sly, like he didn’t mean to do it either. 

I took a shower, because I said I would. And because Baz asked. 

He was sitting on his bed when I came out, and he looked up at me with a face already too close to the one I didn’t like. 

“What did you want to do with the rest of the day?” He asked, as I pushed my dirty clothes into my luggage. “Dinner? Stay in? Shopping?” 

“Actually.” There was an idea in my head. And I wasn’t sure it was a good one. But it was already in my head, so, that was kind of that. And I was looking at Baz and thinking about all the times he _didn’t_ look like he only just tolerated me, and for some reason it made sense. “How about we go to the street? With your violin?” 

He just looked at me. “What?” 

“Busking,” I said, and grinned at him. “Could be fun, right?” 

His mouth twisted into a look that was about the exact opposite of trusting and relaxed. “I don’t know about that, Snow.” 

“But you brought it,” I said. 

“Because you asked me to,” He told me, like it was my fault. 

“To _busk_.” 

He still didn’t look like he loved the idea. I couldn’t let it go. 

“Other people are doing it.” 

He sighed. “People with bagpipes, Snow. Or accordions. Not...” 

“Not posh Englanders?” I asked, giving him a look. 

His mouth nearly turned back into a smile. He bit it back into something that looked almost annoyed, but didn’t _quite_ get there. 

“Come _on_ , Baz,” I might have been whining. I didn’t think I cared. 

“I don’t want to _beg_ on the _streets_ ,” He started, but he was still sort of smiling. 

“I want to hear you play again,” I said, because it was true. “It could be fun.” 

He didn’t say anything at first. Then he let out a dramatic sigh and fished under his bed for the violin case. “Bugger all, alright.” 

~ 

Baz is bloody good at the violin. It’s beautiful. 

I mean, I knew he was good, I heard him back at his house, and he’d sounded nive then. But I dunno, maybe he wasn’t really trying then. Or maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention, because I was distracted by the idea that I was in his _house_. 

Or maybe he just felt like showing off now. 

People were noticing, too. There was a crowd, almost immediately. People who froze when he started playing, and people who rushed over. I got why. I kind of couldn’t imagine being anywhere else either. 

And then there was Baz. Not the music (which was almost _too_ good. It was hard to listen to without feeling like I was eavesdropping on something I shouldn’t have heard), but just Baz. Eyes closed. Hair tied out of his face but still falling into his face, because he can’t stop moving. Baz’s teeth, pressed against the inside of his lower lip, almost invisible, the slightest bit of absolutely too white. 

He seemed ages away from the way he’d been yesterday. I kept saying he felt more like a person, but it wasn’t really that. Not anymore, at least. Baz was almost _too much_ a person. He was himself. And it was maddening, honestly, because I still didn’t actually know who that was. 

But I think I definitely wanted to. 

I don’t know how long I stood there before I couldn’t just stand there anymore. (Or just stare at Baz). 

He’d played a few pieces, some so sad I felt like I was at a funeral, some so chaotic and fast that I thought I might have another panic attack. He was playing something in between now, fast but not out of control. 

It made me feel happy. Weirdly happy. Like, carefree, I guess (I haven't actually felt that yet, but I have to assume this is what people mean). 

I sort of started swaying. Then I don’t know what happened, really, but I was fully dancing. Not well, I don’t think. But that wasn’t really the point. 

A few people moved away from me, but I don’t think it was in a rude way. More like to give me space, like I was suddenly part of the show. 

I looked up to see Baz’s eyes open, looking at me. For a second his face was completely blank, then he laughed. A real laugh. The kind where you can see all the person’s teeth. 

And he kept smiling at me while he played and I kept dancing, and I was definitely _not_ dancing _good_ but people were clapping anyway and it felt really nice. 

I was still moving when I saw the policeman, and it didn’t really mean anything to me until I noticed Baz tense up. He was staring at him too. He muttered something under his breath, still playing. 

I was out of breath by the time Baz stopped and started packing up. 

I was going to complain anyway, because he just _stopped_ , and I thought someone else was bound to too, but when I looked around I realized everyone else was either leaving or was already gone. The policeman too. 

“Why’d you stop?” I asked anyway. 

“We don’t have a busking license and I don’t feel like paying a fine,” Baz said, closing his case. 

“I didn’t know you needed a license,” I admitted. 

Baz didn’t say anything to that, just finished what he was doing, then turned back to me again, looking relaxed like he hadn’t just been worried about the police. 

“So you liked it then?” He asked, eyebrows raised. It was obvious he was thinking about my dancing. 

I laughed and looked down into his hands where he was holding all the money people’d given him- us. I wanted to say something like ‘you were incredible’ or just ‘yeah’, but I couldn’t. Can’t explain why. Other than it feeling too risky, or something like that. 

“We make a good team,” I said instead. 

And Baz’s eyebrows shot up even farther for some reason. 

“Never thought I’d heard you say _that_ , Snow,” He laughed. 

“Really?” 

He stopped laughing immediately. Like he’d remembered. 

“Sorry.” 

“Sorry for what, Snow?” He asked. He was frowning at me. 

I shrugged. 

And he frowned even harder. 

He hadn’t been looking at me before, but staring just past me the way you do when you want people to think you’re paying attention, or willing to look at them. He was looking at me dead on now. 

We stared at each other for a second. Baz hadn’t moved a muscle. I didn’t feel like I should either, but I kept twitching. 

Then he pulled away so I had room to breathe again, and said, “This is enough for a few drinks. Want to find a pub, Snow?” 

Finding a pub wasn’t hard. Spending the money wasn’t hard either. 

Baz hadn’t drank at all when we’d gone to the Boozy Cow and I’d been ordering whatever sounded good on the menu, but he was drinking now. 

We were taking turns ordering for each other, because Baz said I picked expensive things just because I liked the name, and I said Baz ordered things that tasted bad. 

So far we’d mostly just proven each other right. 

Baz was laughing a lot. All kinds of laughing. I hadn’t really noticed how many different ways there were to laugh before. 

He was giggling into the curly straw that came with the last drink I’d picked. Baz definitely did _not_ seem like the kind of person who would ever giggle. But he was. And it didn’t look as weird as I’d have thought it would. 

“Alright then,” I said. “then what about 50 years in the past?” 

He swiped his hand at me. “Nobody interesting then.” 

“Come on, you picked Vid-Vit- _whoever_ for 75, there has to be _someone_ you’d want to talk to. Don’t pretend you don’t have some obscure bloke from 50 years ago you wouldn’t be trying to snog.” 

Baz nearly spit. “I wouldn’t be _snogging_ Wittgenstein. I’d be _interrogating_ him. I deserve _answers_ , Snow, what was he _talking_ about?” He waved the straw at me menacingly. 

“I have no idea what _you’re_ talking about,” I told him, laughing. 

“Okay, well...” He looked like he was thinking. Then he sucked on the straw and it let out a rattling noise because he’d already finished off the drink and all the sudden I was staring at Baz’s mouth. 

“Can’t think about the last 50 years,” He said finally. “Can’t think about the _past_ anymore. I pass.” 

“Fine, how about fifty years in the future,” I asked. 

He lifted his eyebrow at me. 

Baz was always lifting his eyebrows, moving them all over the place. They were _good_ eyebrows. 

“Snow,” He said. “how am I supposed to know who’s going to be alive fifty years in the _future_?” 

“Oh. Right.” 

Then we were both laughing. 

He reached up a hand to my hair. I froze. Weirdly enough, I don’t think he noticed. Drunk Baz wasn’t nearly as observant. Thank God. 

“Your hair _is_ long,” He said. “I’ve never seen it this long.” 

He’d said about as much when I’d brought it up the day before, but this felt different than it had while I was still half asleep, and Penny was there, not just the two of us. 

“I don’t think I like it.” 

He looked at me for a second like he was about to pass some major judgement. “It’s different. I like it. I like how your hair normally is too.” 

He still had his fingers in my hair. 

“I...” I swallowed. My brain wasn’t functioning anymore. Some combination of the drinks and Baz touching me. “I think I’m ready to leave.” 

We were both seconds from falling down. Baz had his hand around my arm, and he kept nearly pulling me into the road, or facedown onto the ground. I could pretty much only think about where his hand was on me. 

I nearly missed the hotel when we got to it. Baz had to pull me back, so that I almost fell into him. My shoulder was pressed into his, and I could smell the spicey smell from his shower. 

I don’t even know how we got to the room. Don’t remember going up the stairs, or finding the right door. I just remember Baz closing it, and me pushing Baz up against it. 

His lips were so soft. He had his hands in my hair again. I had my hands wrapped around his jacket, still in fists. 

He pressed his mouth against my jaw, into my neck. 

There was this. _Baz_. 

Somehow we ended up on the bed. 

Somehow we ended up with me above him. Holding his face with one hand, pinning him down with the other. 

He was cold. So cold. But everywhere he touched was hot anyway. 

His hands were reaching up to me, pulling me down to him, his hands were in a million places. My mouth felt like a blur. 

I felt like I was about to burn myself and him. 

I felt like I wanted to be a fire. 

His shirt was already half off, I pushed it the rest of the way, and he shrugged it onto the floor. I pulled away just to stare. 

He was bloody beautiful. 

He grabbed at me, til I had my mouth on him again. 

“I miss you,” He whispered. “I miss you so bloody much.” 

I didn’t understand it for a second, brain too full of _this_. 

“I miss you,” He said again, against my lips. His voice was rough. 

I pulled away again, and felt him try to stop me. So I stopped, just pressed my forehead to his. Tried to breathe. Tried not to feel like my chest was bleeding. 

Then I moved far enough away to get a look at him for real. 

Crowley, he was... sad. And so fragile. 

Broken looking. 

And I thought, I did that. 

I broke him. 

“Simon,” He breathed. 

“I-” I swallowed. “I know.” I closed my eyes, but I could still see him. The hollows of him. “I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t say anything. Not even when I slipped away, left him lying there alone instead. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe he’d even forget that any of this had actually happened. 

I hoped so. 

Maybe he’d think it was a dream, or a memory even, of _his_ Simon. The one he actually wants. The one whose life I took over. 

I turned the shower on as cold as it would go, and leaned against it, trousers and all. It felt better than just sitting there, burning away. Felt better than still feeling Baz on me. 

I was an idiot for not realizing. For seeing the distant, blankness, and not even _wondering_ what was behind it. For thinking he didn’t feel things. 

God, he did. 

I was just the wrong Simon. 

I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, water dripping into my face. 

It shouldn’t have.... It shouldn’t have felt... But we’d deal with it. I’d deal with it. 

I just needed to sober up. 


	12. Baz and the Interloper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang meets up in Canada, Simon's acting weird, and Baz is in a terrible mood

Simon’s been off. Not that I blame him, really- obviously. But it’s still a fact, and something I know I’ve got to keep an eye on. 

Mostly, he’s just been Simon. Well, he’s been _this_ Simon, not the one who chased me through the catacombs or pulled a sword on me more times than I could possibly count. This one is polite. Mild, most of the time. A very aggressive kisser (that bit’s the same). 

I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with what happened that night. I’m not even sure I _know_ what happened that night- what made Simon leave. Why I woke up to the bathroom floor flooded. 

Simon hasn’t brought it up, and I don’t think he’s going to. 

It’s been an unexpected last 4 days. Not just because Bunce decided to up and leave, or because she actually listened to reason and didn’t spell Simon quiet and drag him off to the airport with her. Other than the first one, they’ve actually been normal days. Normal enough for it to start feeling completely _abnormal_ , but there’s nothing coming for us that I can see, so I’ve just been doing protective spells at night and before we go out, and keeping myself on guard. 

That’s also been good for not thinking about Simon. It’s strange how easy it is to distract myself from Simon by _focusing_ on Simon. It’s because they’re two different people to you, my brain says every time I think it, but I’d rather not actually think about that. Whether or not it’s true. (It is. It maybe shouldn’t be anymore.) 

So Snow’s been smiling like a daft tourist every two seconds and only talking about the most boring things possible, and I’ve been trying not to do something ridiculous, or worry too much about when Bunce is finally going to contact us and tell me I can leave this forsaken country. 

I keep catching myself wishing Bunce was here to insert herself into every conversation. Or tell me her opinion on what exactly I’m doing so poorly at in this whole situation. (I know she’d have opinions. I’ve been trying to guess them, but it’s hard to get past the eye rolling part of it.) 

I also keep catching myself taking in everything Snow does with the same intensity I did when he first woke up- reading into the mannerisms he kept, and all the differences that he didn’t. It’s not a neat box, “Simon Snow” and “ _This_ Simon Snow”, and if it was I’m not sure if that would make it all easier or if it would actually make it even harder. But there’s a line anyway. There has to be. 

A before, and an after, I suppose. But that idea makes me feel guilty almost. I think I can understand what Bunce has been going through. Though, of course, without the manic flair of a post-student with no reason not to stick her nose, and all of her time and energy, into a possibly impossible quest. 

At first, I thought it was because I’d been thinking about Bunce already that I got the urge to talk to her. But after a second, I could feel a slight _foreignness_ to it, because really it wasn’t coming from me at all. 

It’s a spell Bunce was rather pleased to have come up with. Though it did require me to listen to the song about 30 times before she was sure I’d properly understand it enough for it to work- and at long distance at that. In fact, she was pretty pleased at that part of it as well (I’m starting to think the amount of times she looped it was completely excessive). 

I stood up to find a pay phone, or a drunk tourist. My brain was still insisting that I _needed_ to talk to Penny. It was a dangerous spell, I thought, if the wrong person used it. 

But anyway, how many people have actually listened to Call Me Maybe enough times for it to properly work? 

I found a drunk tourist more easily than I found a pay phone, and spelled him a bit more trusting (not that I had to do much to get him to turn a blind eye to me, the man clearly had problems and I was willing to bet he wouldn’t remember the morning). 

“Bunce,” I said into the phone. 

“Canada,” She said in response. 

I waited for her to say something that made sense. “What.” 

“Canada, Baz. Tomorrow morning?” 

“What _happened_?” It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I’d actually expected something to happen. Something to maybe not fix him, but do _something_. Get closer, maybe. Bunce wasn’t sharing her leads anymore- she knew I wasn’t really listening- but I’d figured she had a good reason for running to a new country. Possibly several new countries. 

She just sighed. The kind of sigh that was more annoyed than anything else, but when Bunce was annoyed it was usually because someone was being stupid (clearly not me), or someone was making her think about- or, Magick forbid, _talk about_ \- her having done something stupid. 

I sighed back, fingertips pressed into my temple. 

“Nothing then?” 

“Well-” She said, back to her lecture voice. Then she said, “Yeah, Baz. Not much.” 

It was that more than anything that made me nervous. Made me kind of scared, if I’m being completely honest. Bunce does _not_ give up, or admit when she’s wrong. 

I wasn’t prepared for a Penelope Bunce that wasn’t pushing her way through everything and making impossible plans. 

“How...” I cleared my throat. “How are you, Bunce?” 

She sighed again. Not annoyed this time. “Completely exhausted. I’ve been on too many planes, and broken in to too many places.” 

“I meant to tell you,” I said. “apparently someone broke into the National Library of Wales. They found one of the exhibits knocked over onto its side and one of the alarms was tripped. They’re ramping up security.” 

“Well,” She said, sounding as tired as she’d said she was. “it’s a good thing we don’t have to go back then.” 

“Be careful.” 

“I _know_.” 

“You know but-” I started. 

“ _Baz_.” 

She really did sound completely drained. I was too. I rested my head against the wall behind it. 

“How has Scotland been then?” She asked. “Destroyed anything yet? Accidentally killed a Normal?” 

I scoffed. “We’ve been very well behaved.” 

Well. Maybe not. 

But Bunce didn’t need the details. 

In all my thoughts about getting her advice I hadn’t thought about actually having to _tell_ her. That was the positive of her always being around- normally. I decided in the moment that I’d rather be lost and confused than have to tell the whole story of it. 

“And Simon’s fine?” 

“He’s fine.” 

“Has he remembered anything?” She didn’t ask it like she expected a good answer. 

“If he has,” I said, carefully. “he hasn’t told me.” 

Not quite a no. 

“That’s about what I expected,” She admitted. “Alright. So, Canada. Quebec, to be specific. There should be a flight going out at 8 tomorrow morning. Can you drag Simon up to catch it?” 

“I’ll manage.” 

Simon was pleased when I told him. I think he was relieved, honestly. 

I really didn’t blame him. 

And he and Bunce were a matched set, anyway. That hadn’t changed, even with his memory gone. It made me- well, that didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to think about it. 

So I had one day left with Simon, where he nearly spoke to me in a way an actual human would (he’d decided to either jabber on like the manner-less git he was or not talk at all, and both options were equally terrible), and then I had the unenviable task of having to wake him up before dawn. 

He almost grabbed my hand again when I did. (I may have tried to wake him up the same way I had that night, just to see if he would.) But we both managed to get out without any slights to our dignity or misunderstandings about who were to each other. 

The plane ride was uninteresting. It was the regular amount of waiting around for a plane, and then waiting around for the plane to take off. I didn’t lose Snow this time, so it was at least better than the ride over to Scotland. 

Merlin, did I never want to see Scotland again. 

Snow was leaning into the window like he’d somehow missed the entire country before and had only just noticed it. That managed to distract him for almost the entire flight. 

Then he was asleep. Drooling. Mouth hanging open. 

Utterly disgusting. So utterly _like_ Snow. 

I stopped looking at him. 

He didn’t wake up when we landed, so I had to shake him again. It was sort of odd- spending so many years used to Snow _sleeping_ , and trying to keep him this way, and now turning out to be his wake up call every bloody morning. 

I was getting a little too used to it. Shaking him by the shoulder. Watching him open his eyes. 

Maybe Bunce could do it next time Snow was trying to slip back into his coma. 

Bunce was waiting at a coffee shop inside the airport, and it was more of a relief to see her than I would have ever actually told her. 

Simon practically threw himself into her arms. 

They hugged for a long time. A long enough time that people at other tables and on line started to make noises about it, because apparently they were _cute_ \- a cute couple, obviously, reunited. 

More or less accurate, really. 

“Who’s Tim Horton?” Was the first thing Snow said that I could actually hear. Mostly, he’d been speaking directly into Bunce’s ear. 

I wasn’t normally jealous of Snow and Bunce. It was a stupid thing to be. Obviously. And it wasn’t like I thought anything _romantic_ was going to happen there (or that I really had the ability to be jealous of that even, at this point). But it was there, in the back of mind sometimes. Lately, especially. 

And it was picking at me now, harder to ignore the slight heat of it. Of the easiness they had with each other. The way they just went together, even without knowing anything about their history, the context of them. I’d put it out of my brain since we started traveling- which was a lot easier with Bunce running from place to place with no interest in _bonding_ with Snow- but I had a feeling I’d reached the end of being able to do that. 

“It was boring,” Bunce was saying. 

“You mean it would be boring for _me_ ,” Snow corrected her. 

“Well,” She shrugged. “yeah. It would have been. But it was good. I mean, I learned a lot.” 

He grinned at her. “Good then.” 

He looked at me, finally. He looked off, like he was looking _behind me_ instead of directly at me. That’s how they’d been looking for a while now. Or like he was about to start apologizing. (That was much, much worse.) 

“Whose pick was Canada?” He asked. 

The question didn’t mean anything to me. My brain searched for some kind of meaning, but before I could get there, Bunce had asked. 

“Baz said those places were more of your picks,” He told her. “So, I was just wondering who chose Canada.” 

“You did,” I said, for absolutely no good reason. 

Why not, though. Right? I had no idea where Snow would pick. America? We weren’t going there anyway- Bunce was _not_ getting her way on that one. 

“Oh.” He looked around. Looked proud. Like he’s made this coffee shop with his own hands. Then his eyes went wide. “They have _donuts_?” 

He jumped up, ran to the line. 

“He does seem fine,” Bunce said. 

“He’s having a good time.” 

Bunce raised an eyebrow at me. “You aren’t.” 

I wished, immediately for something else for Bunce to put her mind to. A good puzzle. A new spell. If Nanteos Cup would appear on the table between us I would have been happy just for it to be a conversation ender. 

I suppose it was my fault then, when Simon brought one back with him. 

He came walking back with a box of donuts and a boy about our age. Dark brown hair cut just close enough to barely curl, a big smile on his face like Simon’d said something hilarious- so wide I could see a sharp dimple on his cheek, and a chipped tooth on his left side. He was wearing a football jersey, and had a coffee pressed between both his hands. For some reason it made him look more like a threat- both hands obviously where we could see them. Like a trick. Or like he was trying to keep himself from doing something with them. 

Namely, touching Simon. 

He was drifting closer to him as they walked. At any second they would collide. 

Or, they would, if they hadn’t gotten to our table. 

Simon looked up at us- at me- then back down, like he was embarrassed. Of us, or to have brought a _random stranger_ back with him, I had no idea. 

“This uh- Um- This-” He started stammering. 

I missed the next five minutes of whatever was happening at the table. 

I was staring at the Normal. 

He was American. I got that from the snatchsd of conversation that still got to me- his accent, and the way he felt like he needed to _keep_ mentioning it. And mentioning our accents too. 

I wasn’t worried about staring at (glaring at) him, because he was too busy staring at Simon. Simon who started to look up at me every so often, and kept stopping himself. And who obviously noticed how close this Normal American was getting to him- not to mention the fact that he had _crashed_ our reunion, I mean if nothing else, I thought he’d been _so_ excited to see Bunce again, so why was this suddenly more important- but wasn’t trying to get him to leave the table, or even give him space. 

“Do you like Canada so far?” Simon asked him. 

“It was worth coming,” The boy answered, shooting him an impossible to miss look. 

“We need to check in to the hotel.” I stood up, nearly knocking over the disgusting coffee Bunce had got for us all. 

No one stood up. They just looked at me, standing there, like I was being rude. Frankly, I didn’t actually care a numpty’s arse whether or not I was being rude. 

“Baz is right.” 

Surprisingly, Snow, not Bunce. Bunce was standing up too, slowly, looking at me strange still. 

“Nice meeting you,” Snow told the interloper. “Maybe we’ll see you around?” 

“It’s a big city,” I said. 

The boy smiled at me. (The arse.) “Not that big. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again, Simon.” A second too long, and he turned his head to Bunce. “Penelope. Baz.” 

I didn’t meet his eye. 

I’d never bit a human. Never even been tempted in any real way- I mean, yes, there’s curiosity, and when you’re really starving anything starts feeling possible, but want? Never. Except, right now. 

I could drain this boy. 

Bunce pulled me away before I could do worse than frown at him. 

We took a cab to the hotel, none of us willing to speak except for Bunce, who really shouldn’t have been speaking. 

I could feel Snow looking at me, but the few times I actually looked up to meet him he was staring at the floor, or the cabbie, or his hands. 

“I don’t know,” Bunce was saying. I had no idea why. I was pretty certain she was having an entirely one-sided conversation. “that could be nice.” 

Snow made a weird noise in the back of his throat. 

“At least you’re making friends,” She said, a little pointedly. Not, of course, at Snow. She was side-eyeing me, like she thought it was funny. 

I went back to staring out the window, not trying to listen to whatever Bunce was jabbering on about to Snow while he apparently had some sort of crisis (he definitely looked like he was trying to have a crisis). 

(And, honestly, I didn’t really have the patience for it right now.) 

And then we were at the hotel, lifting our suitcases- Snow and I- or talking to the cabbie- Bunce. The hotel was fairly nice. I considered, for a moment, just staying there the whole trip. I was tired enough to lay down for a few days anyway. 

And I definitely needed to eat. I’d barely gotten any chances in Scotland, I was too focused on trying to keep an eye on Snow. At least now Bunce could pull her weight. 

I looked at her. 

But probably not. I remembered how she’d reacted to me telling her about the possible kidnappers, like it was nothing to worry about. I was hoping, in a stupid way, that her going away would make her take it more seriously. Like, not being around Snow would make her think about _losing_ Snow. But maybe she’s immune. Maybe she’s already had to think about that too often, and now it didn’t change a thing about how she acted, or what she thought. 

Snow jumped into the shower the second we got us and our bags into the room. Bunce already had her things tucked away- she’d gotten there last night, set up before we’d flown in. 

She was giving me a look. An obvious ‘get on with it’ look, with a heavy portion of judgement. I thought about how I’d wanted her advice, one more time. Then threw away that part of me until the very intangible future. 

“ ** _On deaf ears_** ,” I cast, eyeing the bathroom door. 

It was maybe a little paranoid, with the shower already blocking most of the noise from the main room, but I wasn’t scared of being paranoid. 

“What is it now, Baz?” Bunce asked, like she was already tired of me and my theories. 

Oh, how the tables have turned. Now Bunce knows exactly what it’s like to be her own friend. 

“The people,” I said. “who might have it out for Simon.” 

She let out a cross between a groan and a sigh. 

“I don’t know why you’re not taking this seriously,” I started. 

“I am taking a _lot_ of things seriously,” Bunce protested. “they’re just prioritized, Baz.” 

“And this-” 

“This is maybe number 5,” She said. Then thought for a second. “6, probably.” 

“What could be higher than- nevermind.” I shook my head. “I just need you on alert. Please.” 

“Alright, I’m alerted.” 

“I _mean_ , I need you to keep Snow away from suspicious people, if I’m not around to do it myself.” 

“Suspicious- like cute American blokes?” She raised her eyebrow at me. 

I grimaced at her. 

“Like anyone who tries to _push themselves_ directly at Simon,” I corrected her. 

“Like cute American blokes.” She sounded almost bored now. 

“Bunce.” 

“Alright, alright. I’m not going to wrench Simon away from every person I see,” She told me. “or stop him if we happen to run into the Normal again- not that we will- but I’ll _keep an eye out_.” 

“That’s not really good enough.” I held in a sigh. 

“Where are you going to be?” She asked. 

“I need...” I searched for the right way to put it that wouldn't have Bunce asking a million questions, or figuring it out herself. “a little space.” 

“From Simon?” She asked anyway. 

“From everyone,” I said. “For one thing,” I added, because she looked a little too knowing. “I haven’t eaten in 3 days.” 

“Well _fix_ that, Baz!” She nearly shouted. 

“I’m planning on it! Merlin.” 

“Alright. So you’re taking space, and I’m on bodyguard duty,” She said. “As long as I can drag Simon along with me to a few museums I think we can make that work. Come up with a good excuse?” 

“I doubt he’ll ask.” 

She gave me a look, which I ignored. Then, because I had to know, “How did the search go?” 

She exhaled so long I thought she’d collapse. 

“About as well as you thought it would,” She said, sitting on one of the mattresses. “Think of an excuse, Baz.” 

He didn’t ask. Because I didn’t actually get to take any space. 

I did manage to find a few things to eat (I won’t specify _what_ because I’m not proud of it), and I even fell asleep and thought that that would help me miss whatever was on the neverending itinerary. 

But apparently my nap had inspired Snow to take a nap too, and then they were getting ready to go, and Bunce was looking at me, and Snow was glancing at me from the corner of my eye like he was worried about me catching him, and I was too tired to come up with anything. 

They were going to a museum. Obviously. 

I expected Snow to complain, but he was attached to Bunce’s side. Just like he’d always been. I half expected him to pull out his sword, start doing some annoying and painfully distracting training poses. 

They were talking to each other- maybe to me too, but I wasn’t paying attention. My head was in a fog of hunger, and disliking Canada, and being sick of getting stuck next to Simon Snow when he was shooting me looks like he was trying to hide that he’d broken an irreplaceable family heirloom of mine. (He probably had. I’d let him into my house more than 3 times now, it was just probability.) 

I was still sticking to them close enough to act if I had to, and a few times I had to get in between Snow and someone who looked dodgy, but mostly I was just acting on instinct, and my brain was left to do whatever depressing thing it wanted to. I could see Snow get uncomfortable, like he was chafing from me being so close, or me trying to protect him. But that wasn’t going to change anything. 

I followed behind them on the tour of _wherever_ we were. Bunce was remarking on things every few minutes, jabbing at me with questions or facts when she knew I must have known them, but I felt like I was still asleep. Not in the right space, in this semi-crowded room in the middle of Quebec, to talk about art or history or anything else I might have enjoyed arguing with her about a few days ago. 

And then they stopped. 

“Simon, right?” 

Absolutely not. 

But there he was anyway, even though it was impossible, and any sane human being would have skirted around me like a prey animal. (Yes, I knew how to be intimidating- on purpose. My natural air aside, looking like a threat was a skill, and one I took pride in. I was _not_ pleased with this American ignoring it.) 

“Cole,” Snow said, smiling. 

Disgusting. 

They were smiling at _each other_. Bunce was not ripping him away, or flinging him over her shoulder. But she wasn’t smiling, either. There was at least that, painfully minor condolence as it may be. 

“It’s beautiful stuff, isn’t it?” The Normal said, and he grinned at Bunce who- I could kiss her- kept her face so blank he actually faltered. 

“Yeah, interesting,” Snow said. 

They were both quiet for a second, Snow’s eyes wandering, insanely, to me. Like he’d remembered I was there. 

His ears were turning pink. 

He definitely seemed happy to see him. 

If only I’d pushed Snow harder in 4th year. If only he’d pushed _me_ down the stairs. Gotten a better shot with his sword any of those thousands of times. Ended me before I had to deal with this. 

“I’m glad I ran into you,” American was saying. “I knew I would!” 

I frowned at that, despite myself. Bunce thought I was bloody _paranoid_. But he sounded too confident. 

“I wanted to invite you to a party,” The boy said. 

Even Bunce’s eyebrows were up. Though they may have been up at _me_ , not him. 

He looked at the two of us as an after thought. “All of you, of course. It’s the 4th of July tomorrow, and I thought fellow displaced tourists might want to join us- me and my friends. It should be fun.” 

“Uh.” Snow was looking at me again. Then Bunce. Then the floor. Then me, out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe.” 

Bunce started to open her mouth after a few long, silent seconds passed, the Normal boy not taking his eyes off of Simon. 

Snow spoke first. 

“We have to get going, but maybe we’ll see you then?” 

There was something about the boy’s face. Something that flickered when he said it- not jut disappointment, but fiercer. But it was too fast to name it. Or for anyone but me to have seen it, I was sure (that was my luck, lately). And then he was smiling again. 

“I’ll see you then.” No ‘if’ about it. He waved at all of us, then jogged away. _Jogged_. In the museum. 

Simon’s ears were still pink. They stayed that was the whole way through the museum- to Bunce’s original goal, and then back out. 

Then when we got back onto the street, he broke away from Bunce’s side to stare at me. Still not exactly _at_ me (still like he didn’t know if he wanted to look at me), but more intense than the half-looks in Scotland. 

I could feel him thinking. 

That usually didn’t mean anything good. It usually meant Snow was about to attack. 

“I-” That was all he got out. 

He cleared his throat, then fell silent again. 

I didn’t know what this was supposed to be. Guilt? 

We walked a little further without Snow trying anything else, but not moving away from my side. He was closer to me than he’d been when I was tagging after him in Edinborough, side to side. 

Then we got closer to the hotel, and Bunce looked around. 

“Alright, what next?” 

The fact that she’d asked that at all made me pause. Bunce not having a plan- and Merlin knew how many opinions- was completely unexpected. Maybe Prague really _had_ changed her, the way she was thinking about this whole situation. The thought didn’t make me as happy, or relieved, as I’d thought it would just the day before. 

First nearly admitting she’d been wrong, now setting off without a plan of action. A New Bunce was possibly more than I could take. 

Then Snow turned to me and said, “What do you want to do?” and I really froze. 

I just looked at him for a moment. 

He was looking me in the eyes now. Still a little nervous (guilty? I wondered again) but actually looking. And waiting for an answer. 

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m tired.” 

Then I remembered that we’d _all_ just gone to sleep, and that that sounded like a bad lie. (It wasn’t, I was perpetually knackered from lack of blood and lack of space in my head that wasn’t taken up by Simon Snow). 

But he didn’t say anything about it, just shrugged. I thought he’d turn back to Bunce, start listing everything he’d seen and wanted to do, but he kept looking at me. Talking to me. “We could just sit. Do you want to get some- do you want to get food?” 

The unspoken words ‘get some drinks’ were floating between us, but I tried to ignore them. 

I looked up at Bunce. She shrugged, but her eyes were a bit too keen. 

“Alright then.” 

I don’t know what to do with Simon this way. 

I feel like that’s been my constant mood, my constant question- _what do I do with Simon?_ What counts as a Simon I can actually a handle? A Simon I know, can figure out how to read? 

I’m not very good at finding the answers there. 

Especially because it feels like there’s about a hundred Snows on this holiday. 

And this Snow, watching me out of the corner of his eyes, asking me random questions like small talk was ever a thing either of us did with the other, was somehow the most confusing. The problem was, I could see him. I could see _my_ Simon. A relationship. 

I was thinking about him in my room. In the woods. Watching me from his bed, before everything changed. Holding my hand when I showed us the stars, trusting me enough to let me try. 

It was too close to it. To _us_. 

Too close when it wasn’t actually us. When this Simon didn’t know me, or want me, or trust me. (No Simon Snow has ever _really_ trusted me, but for a few weeks at least he seemed like he’d really wanted to.) 

And at the same time- this was completely, terrifyingly new. _What_ was this? Because Snow was many, many things, to me and in his general life, and a person who would ask a Pitch what he wanted to do and then try to strike up some kind of awkward, polite conversation about if he’d gotten any sleep on their flight was _not_ one of them. 

Not before, at least. 

Simon had never been... nice. Good- too good- absolutely. He was always going to be a hero. He had it bred into him and then hammered into him. He was a righteous weapon. But he wasn’t _nice_ \- not to me. 

It made me see him in double. 

The familiarity, uncomfortable and painful, and then the strangeness of him. The closeness to the old Simon, the complete difference between them. 

“I’ll be fine,” I said, when he wouldn’t stop asking about me sleeping, and how I felt, and if I was getting sick. 

It was driving me insane, how it was both at the same time, both pulling at me. But the reality, the only concrete thing, was that this Simon in front of me was obviously trying to be softer. For whatever reason. (And a bit terribly). 

It wasn’t something I had the ability to argue myself out of- I _couldn’t_ ignore it. Couldn’t risk it being the last straw, having that push him back into barely speaking. And I wanted it. Merlin. Even if it was really just him being kind. Or curious. 

I could hear it in my own voice, echoing back to him. 

“I’ll just have an early night,” I told him. “I’ll be better tomorrow.” 

He smiled at me. Still nervous. Something else besides nervous, shining at me. 

Both at once. 

~ 

“Are you sure you’re not getting sick?” He asked. 

The beds were across from each other, like Watford all over again. Different, of course, with Bunce laying across one of them, like she’d been doing only about 15 minutes before. 

Simon was sitting on the edge of his, so that his left knee would have been in between mine if we were closer together. 

There was an intensity in his look, like he was taking me in, taking it apart. Another thing too close to the old- the real- Simon. 

“I’m not going to sneeze on you if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said. 

He gave me a lopsided grin, and I fought to keep mine down. Don’t ask me why. Years of practice turning into instinct, probably. 

“I’m just...” He stiffened a bit. Fidgeted with the cover next to him, without looking down at his hand. Then shrugged, though couldn’t pass it off as actually nonchalant. “worried. I guess.” 

I laughed. 

He flinched, like he thought I was rearing up to attack, then relaxed and laughed too. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I told him, letting myself swagger a bit. 

“You’re allowed to worry about me, but I can’t do the same?” He asked, teasing. Then his face went pink, like he’d just heard himself. 

I kind of liked Simon this way- almost shy. It certainly wasn’t anything I’d gotten to see before. I liked him brash. I liked him ready to kill me. But I liked him _not_ wanting to kill me better. I liked knowing he didn’t. 

I wondered if he’d act like this again, once he remembered. If any of this was going to rub off, change things. 

It hit me in that moment- that it didn’t feel like some far off possibility, a gamble of Bunce’s, anymore. Simon coming back- Simon as he was, before. It felt like an eventuality. Because, of course, it _had_ to be. 

It’d always felt like it _had_ to be. It just terrified me too much- the possibility of letting myself know it, and still getting let down. 

“Precisely,” I said, trying to tease back, but it came out more stilted. I’d let too much time pass while I thought, and Simon was watching me with a strange look on his face. 

“So,” He said, after a long second. 

I was thinking about Bunce, the plans she’d never shared. If I asked for details she’d probably try to deliver an entire lecture on her research. I could survive that, if it meant knowing the next steps. Knowing how close we actually were. 

“Cole.” 

It took a moment to process the name, and then that Snow had actually said it. “What?” 

“I just wanted...” 

I waited. 

“He seems nice,” He said, lamely. 

I still didn’t say anything. Because I had nothing to say to that. 

He shrugged again, not looking at me. “Sorry.” 

There was no way of telling if it was a ‘sorry for flirting with a chavvy stranger’ or a ‘sorry for bringing up a random bloke in the middle of us maybe getting along’ or just a ‘I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say’ sorry. 

“Alright,” I said as casually as I could, because I didn’t want to absolve him of anything without knowing exactly what, and I also didn’t want to stay on the subject for another second. 

“What were we like?” 

He blurted it out, like it needed to come out right that second, all at once, or he wasn’t going to ask at all. 

And I really wished that he hadn’t asked. 

Because there was no good way of answering. No way of explaining without _explaining_. Or making me come off as a tosser. 

“We were....” I tried anyway. “unexpected.” 

“Unexpected,” He repeated, to himself. Then asked, “Like?” 

I just shook my head. Saying anything had been a bad idea. Now it was going to be impossible not to lie. 

I’d done enough lying to him in the past few weeks- I really didn’t want to lie about this. 

“I mean,” Simon tried again. “how did we meet?” 

He looked like he was going to lose his nerve at any second, but kept pushing on anyway. 

“Were we... What was our first... date?” 

A vampire bar, I thought, dimly. 

“We started going out in October?” 

I frowned. 

He looked away, taking the expression as some annoyance or anger pointed at him. 

But really, Merlin, I’d forgotten. I’d already lied about it, hadn’t I? He didn’t know _anything_ about us. Not a single thing. And the one fact he thought he had, it was just me trying to trick him into thinking we were more together than we were. 

A felt a wave of nausea hit me. 

“I really do need to get some sleep,” I said. My voice had an edge. I didn’t have the control to turn it into anything nicer. 

“Oh. Yeah. Of course, Baz.” 

I turned my back on him, laid down. 

I thought I could still feel his eyes on me, even as I turned my lamp off and covered my half of the room in shadow. The questions in them. All unanswered, obviously. And they’d stay like that. 

Until he remembered the answers himself. 


	13. Penny Resolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny makes a choice, friendship is magick, and the gang head to a startlingly American party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm sorry this chapter is SUPER long!

“If you’d just _listened_ ,” Baz complained loftily, though he handed Simon money anyway. He was all wrapped up, and clearly smug about it. 

Simon just laughed, and picked out a tacky tourist jumper. He chose the purple. Because why not, of _course_ he did. 

He slipped it on over his shirt, pushing the papers in his hands (more brochures, I don’t doubt) into Baz’s even while Baz started protesting. He looked happy. 

There was that, at least. 

Well, everything’s sort of wrecked now. Done for. Impossible. 

I’m saying _now_ , but really it’s more that it always has been, I guess, and I’m just too stubborn to take no for an answer- or, I _usually_ am. 

Prague was a bust. So was everywhere else. 

The answer to Simon getting his memory- and life- back had seemed obvious when I was innocent and a few weeks younger, not yet a victim of the airline industry and a disastrous lack of sleep. It still sort of felt that way- like if I could find it... But I’d proven by now that I couldn’t. 

Or maybe it was never Nanteos Cup in the first place. Maybe whatever would have fixed Simon was a _different_ obscure relic I should have been devoting my time to tracking down. It was possible. But also moot. 

The problem was, I realized, that now it was the search (and the relic), or it was Simon. Time with Simon, actual _friendship_ with Simon. Merlin, it was a long time since it just felt like we were friends. 

“Alright, Simon?” I called out, because he’d started to trip. 

He grinned at me a bit sheepishly over his shoulder. 

Really, it _did_ feel a bit like babysitting, sometimes. Or just hiding. 

The choice was obvious, in the end. 

Baz would be pleased, I’d thought. 

Ah, Baz. 

They were walking down to the cafe next to each other. Nothing like the tension they had at school, when they were at each other’s throats. Or the weird awkwardness Baz kept throwing between them (that was Simon’s fault too, but mostly Baz gets the blame, because Simon is an _amnesiac_ and also Baz deserves more judgement anyway, he’s too rich and well off to have heard much in his life, besides from us). 

I don’t know what happened while I was gone- and Baz was obviously _not_ going to tell me anytime soon- but it was good for them. 

Yes, Simon still sometimes looked at us like he thought we might have kidnapped him, and Baz still occasionally seemed like he was going maul strangers on the street, but that was the new normal, and I could handle it. It was better than Simon acting like a caged animal, or not having Simon at all. Definitely better than Baz acting like some tortured gothic love interest, about to throw himself off a parapet. 

Or jumping down my throat like he needed to fight me for Simon’s honor, like he had when I tried to get them to leave. I really hadn’t like leaving Simon (or having Baz act like he was about to duel me). 

And I didn’t like leaving Baz either, to be honest, because he definitely seemed like he needed to be seriously watched and possibly talked down before I left. 

And it was easier to focus without them, thank Magick, but I wasn’t used to being by myself either. I had too big a family, and too big a portion of my life given over to Simon, and to Baz now. 

But I was glad they’d gotten the time. Obviously they’d needed to sort themselves out, and somehow they hadn’t killed each other before they managed to do it. A bloody miracle. 

Maybe they’d come out the other side of this holiday with an actual relationship. One that lasted more than a day, I mean. 

Simon turned his head, laughing again, locked eyes with me. 

He’d been happier to see me since he got to Canada, too. It made me realize all over again how much I- missed him, I guess. But also, how much I hated that I’d been ignoring him without even realizing it. 

“Penny,” He said. “what does poutine mean?” 

“It’s disgusting,” Baz answered first. “you’d probably like it.” 

Simon muttered something that sounded like ‘wanker’, but he was still smiling. Merlin, he was smiling a lot. It almost put me on guard. Like it was too much for it to be real. Or to last, I guess. 

How long had it been since something came barrelling towards us- or _we_ came barreling towards _it_? Longer than we’d ever managed before, which I think should have felt like an accomplishment. 

It was hard, though, not to start feeling paranoid about it. 

Baz stiffened. I felt myself stiffen too. I was already drawing my magic without thinking. We were well trained soldiers, even if we never should have been soldiers in the first place. 

Simon wasn’t paying any attention. 

I shot a look in the direction Baz was clearly trying not to look like he was glaring in, and relaxed a bit. 

There was a boy on the other side of the street, not even walking towards us, just stopped looking at something. A tourist, clearly. But a tourist with brown hair and a somewhat familiar backpack. 

Possibly not even the same backpack. Or the same brown hair. 

I shook my head, even though Baz obviously wasn’t going to pay me any attention- or listen to reason. 

I _know_ he’s worried. I know he’s got good reason to be jumpy, if even half of what he’s heard is true. But, well, it’s not exactly new, is it? 

The threats part of it, I mean. This isn’t the first time someone’s wanted to take Simon out, or just _take_ him. And we’ve gotten out of it before. Not that it would even come to that, actually, because who would even manage to take him? It’s not like Baz lets him do as much as go to the toilet without hovering outside the door. 

And whatever he said, the American was hardly an actual threat. He was stroppy and he didn’t enunciate when he talked. 

The other part of it was new, though- the jealousy. Jealousy over not-Agatha, to be specific. (That was all too ridiculous to have to go through again, so I was just hoping it wouldn’t come close to that whole mess). 

Baz wasn’t dealing with it well. 

“Actually,” Baz said, pulling Simon by the sleeve on his way to order. “don’t you want ice cream?” 

“I...” Simon looked puzzled. “Yeah? Alright.” 

“Great.” And he pushed him in the other direction. 

He shot me a look, pointed as anything. As if I was supposed to bowl Simon down the street at the first sight of a random bloke. 

I’ll be clear, the American was obviously flirting. And of _course_ I don’t want anything to happen- whether that’s kidnapping or just some sort of romantic tryst making Simon and Baz’s whole _thing_ (it’s not exactly a “relationship”, is it?) even rockier than it already was and forcing me into some ill-fitting relationship counselling position. Especially now that they were actually willing to look each other in the eyes and stop being so bloody uncomfortable. But Simon isn’t about to follow a stranger into an abandoned building and get himself caught. He has enough sense for that at least. And if he’s kept enough of his instincts to know how to hold himself when he thinks there could be a fight, then he’s probably kept enough to not be a complete idiot as well. 

And as for the whole romance part of it- well, Simon’s only ever been interested in two people in his entire life. And in neither case did he jump right in and _do_ something about it. In Baz’s case, it took about eight years for them to even act civil with each other, nevermind the rest. Plus, the American doesn’t seem like he’d be Simon’s type anyway. 

If Agatha and Baz are anything to take stock by, this boy is too dull. You can’t date _two_ polished, posh, distracting-looking people and then fall for the first scuffed up tourist who doesn’t even look like he combs his hair. 

Plus, I’m pretty certain Simon’s got a thing for jocks. 

I just think it’s a non-issue. 

Baz would probably agree, if he could look at it sensibly. But I know better than to try to tell him that, not yet anyway. 

Besides, ice cream did sound like a good idea. 

Simon reached out and hooked his arm through mine, dragging me along with them. Flushed face and wearing purple- it was impossible not to see the old Simon in there. But for the first time, it wasn’t like something we had to dig out. More like a mix. 

Like the new was really just part of the old. 

~ 

Baz has been on my case since before they even got to Quebec, and now that he actually let Simon detach himself from either of our sides (he wanted to watch telly, even though I told him that wasn’t what holidays are supposed to be for), he was back on it again. He was searching the groups of people walking by like he was looking for a bomb. 

“What’s the plan?” He said, once we were nearly to the shop. We decided to do take away tonight, because the hotel was nice and no one could say no to the big, soft beds. 

I found myself reminiscing about the days when Baz and I would sit around _not_ talking to each other. Not so much the days back at Watford when we didn’t have any reason to, but those days in the hospital when we were just a dedicated pair, and he wasn’t badgering me 24/7. There isn’t much to miss about that time, but Aleister Crowley, I was starting to miss it with Baz going on like he was. 

“What plan?” I said, instead of any of that. 

“Exactly, Bunce.” He shook his head at me in that air of ‘can you believe this fool’. I bristled. 

“ _What_ ,Baz?” I said before he could say anything else, because I was getting bloody tired, honestly. And Baz was still not willing to listen to reason, and it was getting old. And Simon was sitting in the hotel room alone and I wasn’t worried about someone putting flibbertygibbets through the windows or anything, but I was starting to wish I was there with him instead. “Do we really need to talk about possible escape plans the next time you see a brunette? Or exactly what defensive spell to use if someone tries to ask Simon directions?” 

He stepped back like I hit him. Then his face was impassive again, mask back. 

I felt bad immediately. I didn’t regret it, honestly, but I also really didn’t feel like fighting. And as difficult as Baz was being, it wasn’t like it was really his fault (entirely). 

“Actually,” He said, too poised to not be upset with me. “I wasn’t talking about... _that_.” He lost his act for a second, disgust and annoyance slipping through. 

“Oh?” 

He frowned at me. “Yes, Bunce, I _do_ have other things to be worried about. Don’t I?” 

“I don’t know, Baz, do you?” I was getting tired of the conversation again. We’d stopped walking, but I started up again, not looking at him. 

“What’s your next lead?” He asked. “Should we be splitting up to check more locations again?” 

I didn’t answer. 

He waited, then frowned at me again, more suspicious this time. “What happened in Prague, Bunce? You’re acting.... Not like you.” 

The answer really was ‘nothing’. Because Prague was a bust and a long shot anyway, and, actually, it wasn’t Prague that made me change my mind. 

My mind was- definitely- changed. But it was because of Canada. The museum. Simon, going on like a Normal and me missing it. 

But mostly, the museum. I’d actually, really thought it was there. For some stupid reason. It was a long shot too, but the thing is, they’ve _all_ been longshots. 

I’d been doing more research since I got here- like a last ditch effort, I realized after the fact I threw myself into it, stayed up all night looking through rumors and jokes and tourism pages. And when I got to the museum, it wasn’t there, and it felt like _of course_ it wasn’t there- but it also felt like, well, that’s another impossible failure. Impossible to fix. Impossible to do a thing about. 

Because Simon’s not going to get his memories back. 

Not from some relic, at least. Not from the doctors, apparently. There was a chance that he’d get them back naturally, but it was basically so slim it didn’t exist, more like they said it to make us feel better (it didn’t work). 

Seeing that room, I gave up my hope right there. And I didn’t really know what to do with myself now, but I also didn’t feel like I’d made the wrong decision. More like I’d made a series of bad decisions, horrible mistakes in my math, and I was only just fixing them with the right ones. 

I thought, for the first half of the day, that Baz would be relieved that I’d come around, but it was getting to be clear that the _opposite_ had happened and we were about to find ourselves in trouble again. 

He was still looking at me like he thought I was about to deliver the final blow, end him right there. Or like he was waiting for me to try, so he could do his best to take me down. 

Either way, it felt like a push in either direction and there would be sparks flying, spells cast. Dangerous, and stupidly risky. 

But I didn’t know how to stop that happening, because Baz wasn’t the type to get talked down, and I was, honestly, not the best at talking someone down. 

So we just stared at each other, a few steps away from the chip shop, until I couldn’t bear not saying it. 

“It’s not happening, Baz.” 

He started- like I knew he would. Predictable. Stupidly risky. 

“What do you _mean_ it isn’t happening- what exactly has all this _been_ for then, Bunce? What happened to ‘I know he’s in there somewhere’?’ What’s the point in dragging us all the way to _Canada_ , away from his safe flat if you’re just going to give up?” 

It’d started as a hiss, between his clenched teeth, but he’d ended up yelling anyway. I just waited. 

“Baz.” 

“No.” 

“ _Baz._ ” 

He finally stopped glaring at the sky and looked at me. 

“I know it’s not what we wanted to happen.” I hated that I sounded a bit like my mum. “Merlin, I _know_ it isn’t. None of this was supposed to happen. None of this was what we were preparing ourselves for- a coma? _Amnesia?_ Morgan and Methuselah, we’re out of our depths, Baz!” 

He was shaking his head. 

“It isn’t fair,” I said. “but it is what it is. And all we’ve been doing is trying to pretend that it isn’t.” 

“You _said_ ,” He started, and his eyes were burning. I watched him try to swallow. The thought flickered in my head- how hungry was he right now? Not that I thought he’d... Well, maybe I did think that. In the back of my head. Then he deflated, just enough to stop looking like he was seconds away from a murderous rampage. Still right scary, though, if it wasn’t, well, _Baz_. “You were the one who kept saying he was in there. The way he keeps going for his sword, the way he sometimes slips up and says ‘Crowley’...” 

“He is still in there,” I said. “because he’s _Simon_ , Baz.” 

“I _know_ he’s Simon.” Then he shook his head again. “Or, he can be. Sometimes.” 

I sighed, because he was already half gone, and he wasn’t about to listen to me- I was surprised he’d even listened this much. His body was still rigid as a knife. 

“Just try to let it go,” I told him, as lightly as I could. He flinched anyway. “You’ve got your chance with Simon- you’ve got a _do over_ , actually. Don’t mess it up.” 

He glared at me, but didn’t say anything. Then he turned and walked back towards the hotel, leaving me alone in front of the chip shop. 

~ 

I didn’t know what to expect from Baz, once I got back, but he was acting almost normal. That wasn’t enough to make me start thinking he was _actually_ going back to normal, or getting himself used to the idea of giving up on Nanteos Cup, but it was better than shouting. 

He was staring at Simon with all the intensity of a serial killer, most of the time, with fits of not looking at anything but the floor. It was actually getting to be a bit worrying. 

I pulled him aside, towards the door of our hotel room. 

“Go hunt.” 

He gave me a disdainful look. 

“I’m serious, Baz. Go find- go find _something_ out there. A rabbit. A poodle. An attractive American tourist.” 

His lip twitched, so I thought maybe he wasn’t so far gone after all. 

“I’ll take care of Simon,” I promised. “Go find something to drain and I will not let Simon out of my sight, if that’s what it takes for you to stop looking like you’re going to murder us all.” 

He frowned again, but he wasn’t really in a position to argue, so I pushed him towards the door. 

“I’ll be back soon.” 

“Clean up first!” I warned him, watching as he started down the hall. 

Simon looked up when I walked back into the bedroom, mouth full of chips. “S’goin on?” 

“Baz needs air,” I said, and threw myself across the other bed. “Maybe if he takes some alone time, or smokes, he’ll stop being a prat.” 

“Baz smokes?” 

“When he wants to be more edgy,” I said, and rolled my eyes. 

Simon had a look on his face, like he was trying to picture it. Then he frowned- soft. He went back to his food, but without any of the interest of before. 

“What’s on your brain, Simon?” I asked. I propped my head up with one hand, looking at him. 

“Dunno,” He shrugged. 

“I hate when you say that,” I groaned. “How can you not know?” 

He turned red, and frowned at his box of food. “I dunno- I. It’s hard to explain, I guess. What I’m thinking about.” 

“That’s more accurate at least,” I allowed. “Try then, Si.” 

“I guess I’m...” He finally swallowed the food in his mouth. “I’m thinking about before.” 

I stopped breathing. “You...” 

“I don’t remember.” He said it quick, the way you rip a bandaid off someone, or pull out a blade from their shoulder. “Sorry.” 

“That’s not something you have to apologize for,” I told him, shooting him a look. 

He didn’t look like that made him feel much better. 

“Alright.” 

“What about before, then?” I asked after a long minute. He had stopped eating, and my hand had gotten tired, so I dropped my chin onto crossed arms, looking at him over them. 

“I don’t....” He shook his head. He still wasn’t looking at anything but his food, frowning at it like he thought it was trying to trick him into something ghastly. 

“Come on, Simon. What do you want to know?” 

“I’ve been having dreams,” He said, suddenly, like he’d just exploded. “Every single night.” 

“Dreams about?” I sat up. “Have you told your doctors?” 

I tried to ignore the tiny spark of hope in my chest. Nobody had contacted me about it, but they probably wouldn’t anyway. They’d given up on his memories immediately, they wouldn’t say a thing to me _or_ Baz until Simon was telling them bits of trivia about the World of Mages. (He’d never manage, it would all be about fighting stances). 

“No.” He drug the word out, like he wasn’t sure he wanted me to know the truth of it. “I thought it was nothing. Actually.” 

I watched him take a breath. Steel himself, a bit. 

“Baz _told me_ it was nothing.” 

“Oh.” 

“It’s just.” He stopped. Shrugged. I could tell he was talking himself out, and was ready for him to change the subject- might have been hoping for it, a little. But he surprised me when he started up again, bursting out, “It’s every night, Penny. Always the _same dream_ , and it feels familiar, like it’s real- like it really _happened_.” 

“Maybe it’s familiar because you’re having it every single night?” I suggested. 

He shook his head. “It’s not that.” 

“Maybe it’s....” I didn’t know why I was trying to come up with things. Maybe it _was_ nothing. He hadn’t even told me what the dream was yet, maybe it was some weird projection of his brain that didn’t mean anything. Or maybe it was the key to everything. Except, well, I couldn’t convince myself of that. 

“What’s the dream like?” I said instead. 

He closed his eyes, like he was trying to picture it. “I’m in a room with stone walls. Or, at least one stone wall. I can only see right what’s in front of me. And there’s a big window the sun’s coming in through, and I think it’s morning, for some reason. I think I’m up high, like it’s the top of a building, or a tower .And then the door opens and...” He took in a deep breath, and I watched him squeeze his eyes harder. “and there’s someone there.” 

The way he said it made it apparent exactly _wh_ owas there, but Simon not saying his name made it seem like it maybe it wasn’t apparent to him. 

“Someone?” 

“Just a.... figure. I can’t make out anything except that it’s a person. A boy, I think. Maybe. And he’s...” 

“He’s?” I pushed. 

He shrugged again, desperate now. “I don’t know.” 

“What do you-” 

“I really don’t know,” He said. “he’s just standing there. And I’ve got this feeling like.”  
His face went a bit pink, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to be the one listening to this. “Like, expectation, I guess? Like he’s going to do something, and I’ve got to be ready. And then I always jerk awake.” 

“Okay,” I said, slowly. 

He’d told Baz, he’d said. And Baz hadn’t said anything- to me, or to Simon. I had no idea _why_. 

“When did you tell Baz?” I asked. 

“Weeks ago. A few days after I started having the dream.” 

“And he said...?” 

Simon shrugged again, looking a bit evasive.. “He didn’t know what I was talking about. When I asked about the room. He said maybe it was a random place on campus back at school.” 

“I think it probably is,” I said, trying to be careful. “a place at Watford.” 

It was. Absolutely no argument about it, Simon was dreaming about his old room. His and _Baz_ ’s old room at Mummers. And Baz hadn’t told either of us. 

Simon was staring at me now. “A classroom?” 

“It could be,” I tried to say it without any emotion. Flippant as possible. 

I could tell him. I could test my theory, see if this was _the key_. 

But he was still looking at me, like he didn’t know a thing. And I hated it. And he hated it. But what was telling him supposed to do, at this point? 

“I didn’t tell him about the...” Simon trailed off. “I just didn’t know if it. If it meant anything. Or if it was actually a, well, memory.” 

I could tell him. 

And then Simon would maybe have the slightest chance at remembering everything else, and have a miraculous recovery. 

Or, Simon wouldn’t remember a thing except this random memory that probably only broke through in the first place because it was what happened _every_ day the whole time he was at Watford, and then he would just be a practically Normal boy who might want me committed. Or might get his memories wiped all over again if The Coven found out. 

And even if it wasn’t that- if Simon actually did believe me, or _did_ remember enough to get some of his Watford years back. That didn’t mean he was going to get any of his magick back. They’d said it was gone, completely. Not a shock injury, not a temporary drain. Gone. 

And the biggest loss of Simon’s life didn’t mean anything to him right now, because he didn’t remember having it. So I could tell him, and then try to patch him up when he realized that magick existed and he just wasn’t a part of it anymore. 

Missing Watford, missing the World of Mages, it would have torn the old Simon apart completely. And I knew in that second that I wasn’t going to test it out and see if it would do the same thing to the new Simon. 

“I think it’s probably a real memory,” I told him, and tried to smile. “so that’s good. But I don’t think it _means_ anything, in particular. Just keep trying to remember- maybe you’ll have more dreams.” 

“Maybe.” He didn’t sound like he believed it either. 

“I hope you do,” I said, because part of me still did. We’d laid out on the grounds as much as he’d paced around Baz in their room. Maybe he could remember something about us- and it would feel a little less like I was trying to trick someone into thinking we were mates. 

That was one thing I wish I could unknot from everything else and give to him. The whole history of us. 

But it was too much a part of The World of Mages. He was just going to have to keep taking my word for it. 

He rested his cheek against his pillow, looking at me, like he was thinking the same thing I was- or as close as he could get himself. 

It was fine. He’d have a normal friendship. One without killing things. Less blood. Less politics. 

It didn’t sound bad. It sounded nice, actually. 

Just not like us. But it could be, I think. 

“We’re going to that American bloke’s party tomorrow then?” I asked. I leaned back against the bed so I was staring up at the ceiling, Simon just in the corner of my eye. 

Simon looked surprised by the change of subject, but didn’t object to it. “I guess so.” 

“Don’t say it like you don’t _want_ to go,” I pointed out, laughing at him. 

Hs face flushed, and I watched him lock down, a little. “I’m not- it isn’t- I-” 

“I’m teasing, Simon. And it’ll be fun. Making friends isn’t illegal- even if they are American.” 

He laughed. 

“I’m not trying to...” He said again, after a second. “I don’t want Baz to feel weird about it.” 

“Baz feels weird about everything,” I told him. “Baz feels weird about our entire situation. He can handle a _party_ without self destructing. Even this one. Anyway,” I turned on my side to face Simon again. “you’ll be there, so he’ll be happy to be there.” 

His face was still red. 

“Or as happy as Baz gets,” I amended. “without going all ‘welcome to my lovely home’.” 

“It _is_ a lovely home,” Simon said, into his pillow. 

“You’ve been? Since-” My eyebrows shot up. Then I laughed. “It _is_ a lovely home. He can’t afford for it not to be!” 

~ 

“Look out the window _now_.” 

Baz had come bounding up the stairs, and stuck himself directly next to the window, standing like he wanted to be out of view of rogue spies or possible snipers. 

I gave him a look but walked over anyway. Slowly. 

“There’s... tourists?” 

He looked too now, and scowled. 

“Aleister Crowley I can’t-” He was making violent demands at the ceiling. It was a good thing Simon was still asleep. “He was out there.” 

“Who?” I asked, even though I was pretty certain I knew. 

“ _Cole_ ,” Baz sneered the name. I was surprised he’d even taken the time to learn it. But, well, know thy enemy and all that. Baz _was_ a strategist. “And he had someone else with him too. Another boy- he had a yellow beanie.” He said it like that specific detail was enough to assume the worst about them. 

“And they were?” 

“Staring. Waiting for us to come out of the hotel.” 

I raised an eyebrow at him. 

“They _were_. They only didn’t see me because I was coming around the side.” 

He hadn’t come home during the night, after I pushed him out the door, and I didn’t want the details as to why not. He looked pristine enough, other than some sweat sticking up his hair. 

“We need to stay somewhere else.” 

“You want us to move all of our things- and _Simon_ ,” I gestured to the bed Simon was cocooned in. “because you think you saw a tourist you decided you were suspicious of- who, by the way, could have just been walking by?” 

“They weren’t walking by.” He said it calmly enough, but his eyes were still too big. “Bunce, I am _telling_ you. Whatever they were doing... I don’t like them knowing where we’re staying.” 

“Okay. Fine. We’ll be _safe_.” 

Simon was opening up his eyes now anyway, and our things were mostly packed. 

If it made Baz settle down, why not? And it felt right, anyway, like a call back to how it used to be, throwing off threats with Simon. 

“We’ve got to be out in an hour.” I jammed a finger in Simon’s shoulder, and he tried to shake me off. “Be packed and ready before the hotel decides to charge us an extra day.” 

He said something into his pillow that sounded like “mmwhy where??” and I just prodded at him again, trying to get him to turn over. He threw up his hands in surrender. 

“This is atrocious.” 

Baz was looking up the long staircase/fire escape to our new room. Not interested in mincing words, or being grateful that I’d let him talk me into leaving our old, much nicer hotel. 

Actually, this wasn’t even a hotel- now we were in a motel, on the other side of Quebec. It definitely wasn’t anything like the suite we’d had. Baz grimaced when we got to the door, took a look at the meager space and single queen sized bed. 

He gave me a look like he thought the state of our new living space was _my_ fault, 

Well, it was, a bit. I can’t say I _didn’t_ want to mess with Baz at least a little. He was the only one who would have really cared about what the room looked like or anything else (Simon might have, if we’d let him order room service before). But it was also just the best option. It was far away, and it’s not like you can get any more anonymous. 

I said as much to Baz, but he still was looking at the room like it was in the middle of a trash heap. 

“Can’t waste our funds, Baz,” I said, dry, repeating the lie we’d given Simon. It wasn’t a hard one to believe- plane tickets and hotels were expensive. Well, they were if you were paying for them. 

Baz was still peering at the dimly lit room. 

“Think of it this way,” I told him, smirking. “no one would expect a Pitch here, would they?” 

~ 

I can’t believe Baz actually came with us to the American’s party- but, on second thought, obviously he wasn’t about to let Simon waltz in there sans boyfriend slash bodyguard. He did look miserable, though. Truly bloody out of his wits. 

I was just glad he wasn’t trying to attack anyone yet. 

I thought the party would be outside- Americans are all about the great outdoors, aren’t they? Lighting things on fire and pretending to be able to survive in nature without technology? 

But there was a building attached to the park, and when we got close, Cole opened the door to it, beaming at us. Well, at Simon. That much was clear. 

Simon looked nervous. 

I would have been nervous too, if I had a jealous vampire staring me down. I considered trying to grab Baz, but I didn’t fancy getting the brunt of any of this either, so I left him be until it looked bad enough to have to get involved. 

The room was nearly bare. The walls had nothing but the windows on them, all a dusty beige color that made it look a bit like an institution. They were made of painted brick, too, which didn’t make it look any more inviting. 

There were 5 other people in the room- all boys, I noted. A bit sexist. 

They looked about our age, same age as the original American, but one had a full beard that made him seem like he could be older, and one looked ageless in that way some people’s dads do, when they’re trying too hard. 

“Welcome!” 

Cole was introducing his friends, and I hadn’t tuned in enough to catch a single name. All I caught, was that one of them- a man with hair lighter than Simon’s, but with the same brassy tinge as his- was wearing a yellow beanie. 

My eyes flitted to Baz’s for a second, but he was still staring down Cole without seeming to notice anything else. 

Simon was talking. More or less relaxed. 

People were allowed to walk wherever they wanted, and it wasn’t exactly improbable for someone to accidentally pass by the hotel we were in. But I had a feeling in my chest- I clenched my hand, feeling the band of my ring press against my other fingers. 

“We’re just going to eat first,” Cole was saying. 

They had a big table set up, covered in paper plates. 

I didn’t see any food, but I didn’t ask either, because someone was grabbing plates and disappearing. They came back with them heaped with everything you’d expect from an American celebration- on tv, at least. 

Hamburgers, hotdogs, corn. A few sad grilled vegetables. 

“Penny doesn’t eat beef,” Simon said, when he saw it. I saw his eyebrows jump. 

Something else remembered. 

It was almost enough to make me stop worrying about the strangers. Simon was grinning at me, looking almost shy even though he also looked like he wanted to jump up and down. I grinned back at him. 

“Oh. That’s fine,” Yellow Beanie said. I tried to look him in the eyes, but he turned away too fast. Weirdly fast. 

“Penny probably has,” Simon said. I looked up at the sound of my name, and found Simon already looking at me. 

Cole was sitting across from him all of the sudden, looking too comfortable and relaxed to set off any warning bells besides the ones maybe about trying to steal boyfriends. Baz wasn’t sitting yet, just had his hands on the table. 

“I probably have what?” 

“I was just asking Simon if he’d ever read Dante’s Inferno,” Cole said, polite as anything. 

“We had to read bits and pieces in school,” I told Simon. “you definitely didn’t like it. You thought it was too ‘much’. Just ‘too much’.” 

“I was probably right,” Simon said. 

He didn’t look like mentioning school, or yet another thing he didn’t remember, was bothering him. That seemed like a good sign. A good change. 

“I don’t like it either,” I added, looking at Cole for a second, before I turned back to Simon. “I read it when we were 13, because my mum said it was too advanced.” 

“And you also thought it was ‘too much’?” Simon teased. 

“I thought it was too full of itself,” I shrugged. 

I saw Cole’s expression change out of the corner of my eye, obviously not happy, but I ignored him. Why should I care about a Dante loving stranger? 

Especially if he was about to try to debate me- which it seemed like he might, if I didn’t act fast. 

“My favorite,” I said. “was when you thought you could read Old English without a translation and you nearly-” nearly flooded the school. But I changed, mid-way “nearly had a conniption.” 

“Why was I trying to read Old English?” He gaped. “That doesn’t sound...” 

“It’s not. It’s because,” I told him. “the headmaster suggested it and you _never_ said no to him.” The truth of that was a bit too much, even though he didn’t know a thing about it. “Anyway, you thought it was just old slang. You wouldn’t _listen_ to me.” 

“ _Isn’t_ it just old slang?” He asked. “Just really, _really_ old?” 

“I’m not having this argument with you again, Simon,” I shook my head. 

“What are your favorite memories of school?” 

Cole was looking at Simon. Something about his face looked wrong for a second, too blank. Then he smiled, and he was casual again. I felt my ring again, but relaxed myself. Baz was playing lookout anyway. 

Simon was eating all the food on his plate, and he only stopped to try to answer Cole without a full mouth. A courtesy none of the rest of have ever gotten, I should add. 

“Oh, I don’t-” 

I nudged Simon. Hit him, actually. Nearly knocked him off the bench. 

It didn’t feel right, any other suspicions aside, to just _tell_ people Simon’d lost his memories. It didn’t matter if Baz was completely wrong, that was something that felt too true to try to argue around. 

“I... can’t pick?” 

He was looking at me weird. But he was playing along. That was all that really mattered, right now. 

“Off the top of your head then?” Cole asked. 

I frowned at him. He was getting pushy. 

I looked up to try to catch Baz’s eye, but he wasn’t there. I nearly stood up to try to get a better view and find him, but I caught sight of him hanging back near the door. 

He met my eyes after a long second, like he felt them on him, and I saw him sigh. I waved him over, not caring if anyone saw. 

He walked slower than could ever be passed off as normal, but he got there eventually. 

“I studied too,” Simon said, face pink. Cole was laughing. Wherever there conversation had gone, it felt less tense, so Simon must have come up with something to say. “It wasn’t _all_ football.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” The American teased. 

I looked down at the plates on the table. Other than Simon’s, they looked mostly untouched. Cole was gesturing with a spoon full of something white and lumpy, but at this point it looked more like an accessory. 

The only things on my plate was a shrivelled piece of corn and some vegetables, but even if they _hadn’t_ looked like they’d been just about tortured, I didn’t have much of an appetite. 

“Anyway,” I interjected, because they were still talking, and I was getting sick of Cole’s tone. “What’s the plan?” 

“Plan?” Cole stared at me. 

“For the night?” I looked around, pointedly. “The party?” 

“Oh! Just... this, I guess. Good food, good friends. Fireworks, obviously.” He checked his watch. “They should start any minute, actually. Ben was supposed to set them up.” 

He got up, crossed to a window further away. Then he looked back over to us, smiling like he wanted us to join him. 

I followed after a second, and I could feel Simon’s panic, because he didn’t know whether or not to trail after us, or stick with Baz and his brooding. 

There was nothing out the window yet, just night sky. 

There was another man near us, the one who looked like someone’s posh dad, not looking out the window, but leaning near it like he was waiting. 

I watched Cole lean in toward the glass, like he was trying to make something out. He fiddled with his watch with one hand and hummed under his breath. 

“ ** _Rock-a-bye baby_**.” 

I felt the rush of magic like cold droplets of water down my spine. My brain was already fuzzy- almost fuzzy enough to doubt that I’d felt it except I _knew_ I had. 

“Simon!” 

I shouted at the exact same time a whistling noise came from outside, then a distant explosion. There was pink light right outside the window. I could see the other man’s lips moving, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. 

I whipped around, met eyes with Simon, who obviously had no idea what was going on, what I wanted him to do, that danger was anywhere near us. 

“ _Baz_! B-bomb threat!” 

I don’t know why I yelled that of all things, but he understood. I watched him grab Simon around the shoulders, shield his body. They were out the door within seconds. 

But there were only four of the men inside- the other two could be going after them. 

I just had to hope Baz saw them coming. 

Something crashed down on my head. 

~ 

I opened my eyes and felt my skull throbbing. I don’t think it had been long- not hours. The men were still gathered around me- three now, but the door was shutting, so whoever’d left, he’d just done it. Baz and Simon were probably long gone. 

Maybe they were even heading towards the hotel and trying to capture them there, not knowing we’d left. 

I resolved to admit that Baz’s plan had been a good one, when I saw him again. 

“What now?” I called out. 

They startled. 

They were young. Not physically- though, physically too, most of them, just boys really. They were _new._

Amatuers. 

Cole- if that was actually his name, which I sort of hoped it wasn’t, because _really_ \- got in my face. 

“Now you _wait_ and _shut up_.” 

“That’s not a very good plan,” I told him. 

He turned away from me, just to turn back, like he’d remembered someone should be watching me. _Amatuers_. 

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” 

He didn’t answer me. 

“What’s the plan then?” I asked, trying to make myself sound a little more worried. I’m not sure it worked. I don’t normally try to sound _less_ confident. “Hope Simon comes back so you can arrest him?” 

“Arrest him?” He nearly shouted it, he was so surprised. 

“Or, I don’t know... crown him?” 

He gave me a look. I upped the “scared, damsel in distress” enough to possible pass for someone idly nervous. 

“You obvious know who he is,” I said. “Somehow.” 

“Everything doesn’t stay in England, you know,” He shot back. “We hear things.” 

“Apparently.” I looked at the other people still in the building. “‘We’. So you’re a group, then. Thank you for inviting us to your cult event.” 

He ignored me, and I thought maybe he was done talking. Which would have been disappointing in an academic sense, but overall a relief. I was more sick of him now. 

“I know who he is,” He said finally, and he seemed to relax a little, confident. Maybe because I was tied up, and hadn’t started screaming yet. “I know _what_ he is. _We_ do.” 

I didn’t push it again. Just hummed in answer. 

I had a feeling I needed to keep my mouth shut. 

“I read about it,” He said, eyes burning into me, but it was like he was talking to himself. “About how it happened. You don’t keep your secrets as well you think you do.” A new look took over his face, eyes wide and passionate. It made him look a bit grotesque. “ It never should have happened. He never should have been a _person_.” 

I almost interrupted. I bit my tongue hard enough for blood to fill my mouth. 

“The Greatest Mage,” He muttered. 

He was pacing, just from one end of the bench to the other, barely even actually moving, more twitching. Then he started up again, with all the passion of a student with a grand theory. Like someone certain they solved a puzzle, and desperate to prove it, “It says vessel- they all say vessel. It’s _in_ him, that’s what it’s supposed to mean.” 

“So flirting with him was just a fun distraction I suppose,” I said. 

It was enough, to break his concentration. There was probably more to hear, more he’d tell me, because he couldn’t help himself. But I was getting sick of it. 

His face twisted, in something like annoyance or disgust, I wasn’t sure which. 

“Bad move, honestly,” I added. “you might have wound up with Baz here instead, and he wouldn’t have been as willing to leave you alive.” 

“What-” 

“ ** _In the eye of the storm_**.” 

It’s not a reliable spell in the best of times. You could find yourself in the middle of it with too big a storm to control, or a storm with an eye too small to matter, but, well, I’m _good_ at this. 

This isn’t my first time here. I’ve had about eight years of practice to tell me what I can do, and what I can risk. 

This one paid off. 

I could feel the still air around me, prickling at my arms, and I could see them thrown into the walls. I pulled the storm back, even though I didn’t want to, didn’t want to lose the security, because there was still something I needed to do, and they needed to hear it, not the wind. 

“ ** _That doesn’t ring a bell._** ” Then I added, drawing up as much magick as I could without leaving me too drained to run, “ ** _Six ways to Sunday._** ” 

Then I ran for the door. And kept running, past the park, and the still whizzing fireworks (was there really someone out there _still_ setting them off?), thinking that Simon _had_ to be okay, and I had to have lost my memory too to have not even thought about spelling their intentions clear. I hadn’t even put up a _barrier_. 

Protective spells. 

That’s what we needed, on us, on the motel. And Baz was stuck with Simon- had been stuck for I still didn’t know how long- trying not to do magick in front of him. 

I didn’t care at this point. 

I would spell the motel invisible directly in front of Simon if it came to that. As long as he was safe- both of them- and we weren’t about to be taken in by a cult, we could deal with everything else later. 

I saw the motel at the end of the street. 

Not on fire. No one camped outside or breaking in. 

We could deal with the rest later. 


	14. Baz Ran Ragged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz gets Simon back safe, is utterly exhausted, and has a lot of _feelings_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes to you thanks to the song "unsaid" by flor (revisited version) because I blasted it at least half the time I was writing this

Bunce was stuck in a park building with Merlin knew _who_ and I was worrying over if I had the key to our horrible, possibly life-saving motel room, and if I was willing to spell the door open in front of Simon if I didn’t. 

I didn’t think when Bunce yelled out to me- there was nothing to think about. I didn’t know anything, except that that Bunce thought it was time to get out, so that was what I had to trust. I do trust Bunce- I’d be a fool not to. 

But the problem with running out of a building with a very confused boy pulled against your side is two fold- first, that Snow wasn’t following what was going on. His mind was moving slow (far slower than it could have before, in a battle ready state at least. He can be slow, obviously, but he’s also always been the first to draw his weapon, even in completely unnecessary situations) and he had been less _running_ with me than being dragged while his feet tried to catch up. Once he got the idea, however- barely far enough away for us to be nearly out of sight of the building- something changed and he was running like he knew how, and he meant it. Thank Magick. 

The second problem was that we hadn’t gotten out without notice, and there were two men trying to stop us. _They_ didn’t care about whether or not it was obvious they were doing magick. Luckily enough for us, they were terrible. Their spells barely touched us. 

“ ** _Bugger off!_** ” I risked. 

I could see one of them jerk backward a bit, but not nearly as much as I’d wanted. 

I risked a little more, because this seemed like the right time for it, anyway. And it helps you if _feel_ it. If you mean it. “ ** _Fuck off!_** ” 

Out of the side of one of my eye I saw someone fall backward, like they were being pushed by a strong wind. I didn’t turn to see how far they back they’d fallen, just took the opportunity to pull Simon along and cut through a street. 

Cut through another. 

I was so glad I’d gotten lost the night before. 

I was so glad we’d changed hotels. 

By the time we got back to the motel, climbed up the staircase, locked the door behind us, neither of us could breathe, but I was certain we’d lost them. 

Snow was staring at me. Staring in a cross eyed, not really looking kind of way. I was a bit worried he was about to have some sort of episode. Maybe a full break down, finally. 

But he just sat down on the bed in the middle of the room, breathing slow and deliberate. He seemed better off than I would have expected him to be- better off, even, than he would have been if he wasn’t an amnesiac. 

I was, briefly, extremely grateful for Snow losing his memories. 

I didn’t want to chase him down the street while he ran after the American mages (I still can’t believe they were _mages_. And such rubbish ones too. That should have evened it out, but somehow it just made it worse, like we were stuck in an amateur play) like he would have wanted to. I was surprised he’d let me drag him away at all, with Bunce behind us. 

My legs hurt, in a dull sort of way. I realized we probably could have risked a cab, once we’d gotten out of the other mages’ sight. We’d probably been running for at least half an hour. Most likely more, but I hadn’t had a chance to check a clock since we’d left for the Magick-forsaken “party”. 

Simon was still staring at nothing, breathing like the doctors had told him he should (yes, I read some of the pamphlets), and I realized that he was- well. Not a vampire, for one thing. His body probably hurt more than mine did. And completely in the dark- up until the part where we ran for our lives. 

He was holding on to his right hand with the other, holding it up near his chest. 

They hadn’t touched me, with their magick or otherwise, and Simon hadn’t made a noise, but that didn’t mean nothing had happened to him. 

I dropped down next to him, reaching for his hand without a word. He didn’t react like he’d even noticed. 

“Simon, let me see.” 

My voice sounded too loud in the silence of our motel room. He still acted like he hadn’t heard me. 

I reached out again, pausing when my fingers met his hand. I was still waiting for him to do _something_. 

Push me, maybe. Shake me. Passing out, even, would have felt like a better response to the night. 

“Are you hurt?” I tried to talk quieter. Everything felt too breakable. _Simon_ felt too breakable. 

Finally, he gave me his hand. 

It was twitching slightly, like it had cramped up, but there wasn’t any blood, or even scrapes against the skin. I pushed my thumb against his palm, and I felt him stiffen, but he relaxed after a second when the muscle twitches stopped. 

I got back up, ducked down in front of him. He wouldn’t come to me- or look at me- so I’d have to improvise. I was trying not to look at him either- not his face, his expression, at least. His hands felt safer. Checking his clothing for holes, or gashes. Checking him for any blood. 

He seemed fine. 

Nothing had gotten to him, at least. Physically fine. 

But I could feel him looking at me now, as I took in the sight of his leg, where he’d kicked himself instead of tripping. I could feel him start to ask something. 

He wasn’t staring into nothingness anymore. He was alert again, and nervous. I didn’t want to answer a single one of his questions. I didn’t want to lie, or have to seriously think about when Bunce was getting back, and in what condition. 

I was tired. 

Too tired, tonight at least, to come up with an air tight reason we’d run, and left someone behind, and I’d screamed obscenities at two tourists. 

But that never stopped Snow before- me being exhausted, or unprepared. Wishing for things, when it came to Simon, was usually pointless. 

“Baz,” He started, voice scratchy. 

I grabbed him a water out of the minibar. Bunce would just spell the damage away anyway. 

“Baz,” He said again, ignoring the water. “What....” 

I turned away from him. Took off my shirt for no reason but to have something to do. I heard him open the bottle after a second. 

I knew what he was going to ask, and the only answer I could give was the answer that he already knew, and I didn’t even want to think about it. I _was_ thinking about it, obviously. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Simon kidnapped. 

Simon walking into a trap, and possibly not walking back out. 

I thought I might be sick. 

Nevermind that it hadn’t worked out that way. Nevermind that we’d been there (I was still trying not think hard about Bunce’s own hopefully equally unscathed escape) and we’d already said we weren’t going to let anything happen to him. That was a just a promise. Life didn't care a thing about that. 

Then Simon started again, with all the hesitation of someone approaching a wild animal. “Baz... what happened? What was that?” 

And I could have lost him. Whatever they wanted him for, they’d had a plan. And it wasn’t about to be anything _good_. I could have lost him, and he wouldn’t even have known why. 

“Baz.” There was something different in his tone. I had to turn towards him, even though most of me still didn’t want to look at him. He looked too vulnerable. Too human. And, in this moment, too suspicious. 

There was a crease in his forehead, broadcasting his thoughts directly into the room. He’d never really trusted me- not fully, since we met- and there’d always been the feeling, since he woke up, that we were both waiting for the door to close completely between us. Make it clear that I wasn’t an honest or reliable person, but someone to either keep an eye on or kick out entirely. 

Now he was seconds from making his choice, like it or not. And I was playing my old part with all the passion of a limp fish, yet horribly accurately. 

“Simon,” I answered. It was all I knew I could say, without breaking something. I shifted away from him again, stared at the corner where the door and the wall met. 

_What was that?_ He didn’t repeat himself, but he was thinking it, demanding answers with just his eyes. There was plenty I could keep him in the dark about, but this wasn’t something to brush off. Even if I could pretend it was, Snow’d already decided for himself not to let go. And that wasn’t the type of decision he went back on without weeks of stalking or worse. 

_What_ was that? I didn’t know. 

And all the questions that came along with it- where was Bunce? Were we safe? What next? I didn’t know. 

That was the truth I was absolutely not going to tell Snow. I wasn’t going to tell him my suspicions either, true or not. So that only left the one option. 

Tired or not, I was never done lying. 

I hesitated anyway, because blast it, even though I _had_ to I didn’t have to like it. Any goodwill I’d earned with Snow was about to go down the drain, no matter the choice. It was just that if I said nothing, we’d both know it- if I lied, only I would. 

Both options were shite. 

I was more than used to that. 

“Bunce found them online,” I said. I didn’t want to turn back to him, but it didn’t make it easier, not looking at him. “the police were looking for them apparently.” 

I waited for him to ask, but there was nothing but silence. 

“Human trafficking, allegedly. They had their faces posted, but little to no information.” 

“How did she...” Snow was trying to put his words together. In some small, strange part of my brain, I was proud of him. Thinking before he spoke. Speaking _slowly_ , which I hadn’t thought was a skill he even possessed. “Why did she yell? What happened?” 

“Saw a gun,” I lied, expertly. “I saw it when I looked up at her.” 

“We left her with _armed_ _human traffickers_?” 

I could tell he was about to make a scene about it. Not that I blamed him (maybe I should have picked a less worrying lie), but even though Snow couldn’t go off anymore, seeing him collapse from stress wasn’t going to make my night any easier. 

“Bunce knows how to handle herself,” I promised. 

“With _armed human traffickers_?” He demanded. 

“Honestly?” I exhaled and tried to remember I wasn’t annoyed, though being worried wasn’t much better. “Probably. There’s little that can stop Penelope Bunce. But I don’t actually know.” 

That didn’t make him look any less upset. 

I grabbed him by the shoulders, more on impulse than anything else. For a split second, when I realized I’d done it, I thought he’d push me off, even start screaming at me. He didn’t. I could feel his muscles relax under my hands. 

It was a terrifying amount of power. 

I let go, more for self preservation than anything else. And Snow was still looking at me dead on, mouth open a little, like he was about to argue or confess or just gape like a fish at me until I ended myself. 

“She’s done this before,” I said, before deciding whether or not it was a good thing to tell him. “Not exactly like this, but, well, Bunce has seen high stakes and she always passes every test of her will with flying colors. I can’t promise....” I couldn’t promise she was going to survive this one. I couldn’t rationally promise that any of us would manage to get through in one piece or unscarred. None of that was anything I actually wanted to draw attention to anyway. I backtracked. “I _can_ promise,” I said instead. “that she’s managed it before. And if she didn’t know what she was doing when we left, she knows by now.” 

All true, yet not entirely comforting when you’ve got kidnapping and possibly death on the line. 

Oddly enough, Snow didn’t jump down my throat over it. He actually took a breath and deflated a bit. 

“Just...” He sounded more upset now, and less like he wanted to burn a hole through me and the building both. “why did she even let us go?” 

“She didn’t know,” I told him. “Not at first. And then she wasn’t sure. Bad pictures, and entirely too coincidental. It was paranoia- or, it could have easily been. She... She didn’t want to take it seriously. I don’t blame her.” I just wish that she had. 

Simon sighed, leaned back towards the bed like he was about to collapse. I might have done the same in his position- in my own position as well. 

Instead I sat next to him, not quite close enough for our legs to touch. I could feel him there anyway. He’s always given off so much heat. One more thing that seems impossible to ever change. 

“Baz...” His voice was low, steeled almost. I thought he might be about to start arguing again. There was a quality to him, sitting there, like he was waiting to start something just to _do_ something. That was a part of Snow I understood probably better than any other part. 

“I know,” I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t, right then. “I’m... I’m worried too.” 

“But, _Baz_...” He started, just a little louder. There was something like desperation in it. Definitely some fear. I didn’t really want to hear it, to be honest. I was feeling enough of both those things to just about die of it myself. 

I didn’t have to, in the end. Because in that moment, I heard something at our steps. 

I thanked Magick once more that we’d moved ourselves to the awful motel and its perfect, squeaky metal stairs. 

I flung open the door before Simon had even moved. 

Either it was Bunce, or we were in more trouble than I’d even allowed myself to think we were in. 

I let out a long breath when I saw her standing there, halfway up the stairs, hair exploded around her head. 

“Bunce! Thank-” I could feel Simon behind me, at our doorway. I strode down to her instead, and, after a moment’s hesitation of _I’ve never actually hugged Penelope Bunce- why would I have?_ I grabbed her. And then I could admit that there had been a part of me completely preparing itself to find her taken in. Dead, even. 

I happily squashed that part. 

“What _happened_ , Bunce?” I pulled away from her. “It’s been over an hour!” 

“It has?” She sounded exhausted. For good reason, I was sure. Not only was her hair puffed up around her head like an eruption, but her face was flushed and I could see sweat clinging to her clothing. “Well that’s... not as bad as it could be.” 

Simon was hugging her now. He’d come down the steps at a run, and looked about ready to squeeze the life out of her. 

“Come on, inside.” Just because they hadn't found us yet didn’t mean we needed to press out luck by standing outside of the building for longer than necessary. 

I swept them both through the door and then locked it. 

“What happened,” I asked again, giving Bunce a look as I added, “after you saw the gun? I already told Simon that we thought they might be _kidnappers_.” 

I leaned on the word maybe more than necessary, but with Bunce accounted for and not bleeding, I thought I deserved a small moment of smugness. 

“About the human trafficking,” Simon corrected me, and then said, “ _Human trafficking, Penny?_ Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“The....” She pushed her hair back with her palms and looked sorely tempted to just lean her hands over her face and pass out. “Yes. The Human....” She took a breath and looked at Simon. “I saw the gun, and I got you both out of there. They knocked me unconscious for maybe... twenty minutes? Thirty? I don’t really know.” She was talking about it casually now, like she hadn’t just escaped crazed kidnappers. “Anyway, I got out.” 

“Got out _and_?” I pushed. Too much gray area. I needed to know if they were in a position to come after us or not. I hoped she’d stopped them for longer than just a few minutes. 

I listened for the stairs, but there was no noise from outside, besides the cars. 

“Got out,” She said. “and took them out with me.” 

“A-All of them?” Simon’s voice climbed a few octaves. 

She shrugged. For as many times I remembered that this was Bunce’s life already, just another grand escape piled on top of other grand escapes. Of course, this time she hadn’t had backup. She didn’t betray if she’d been thinking about that, or if she was thinking about it now. 

“Except the ones who went after you. Did you...?” 

“Lost them,” I said. Not like there was much more I could have done, not with Simon there and all of Quebec bearing witness. 

“Alright.” She took another breath, like she was bolstering herself. “Simon, stay in the room.” 

Then she reached for the door. 

“What? _No_.” 

She frowned at him. “Come on, Simon, just-” 

“No! I’m not- I’m not _letting you_ just- just-” Simon’s face was turning red. 

“Not _letting_ me?” Penny repeated, eyes huge. 

It wasn’t exactly the time and place for any kind of arguing, but I was certain there was little I could do about it. I was grabbing Bunce by the shoulders anyway, leading her towards the door. 

“No- _Baz_ you can’t!” I heard him suck in a breath. “You can’t expect me to just wait here! I’m not letting you both go out there and staying in here doing nothing! Penny-” He shot off the bed. My eyes flickered down to his hip without thinking, half-expecting the sword. “you were just _kidnapped_! If anyone’s staying in the room-” 

“Don’t, Simon. I just got kidnapped and _escaped_.” 

“But-” 

“I can handle it,” Bunce said, and there was no arguing with her. “I already _have_. And Baz can handle it too.” 

“Baz,” He started again, but it was impossible to know if he was questioning that or just asking me to say something. Maybe he thought I’d fight for him. That was about as likely as me handing him in myself. 

“Bunce is right. Stay in the room, and don’t move.” 

“If you’re both able to go out there,” He said. “and risk kidnapping- _again_ \- then why can’t I? It’s _my choice_.” 

“No, Snow, it isn’t!” I crossed my arms. I could stop him if he charged the door. I didn’t want to, but I could do it. 

“You’ve got no memory of how to handle yourself,” Bunce said. “you’ve got _no memory_. Just leave it to us, Si.” Her voice was softer with the last sentence, but still obviously unwilling to budge. 

Simon’s face was still red, and his fists were at his side, trembling. But after a long second, he sat down on the bed. 

“Be fast. Or I’m coming for you.” 

I didn’t doubt him. 

Bunce and I took the steps two at a time, both of us moving with all the adrenaline that comes from an attempted kidnapping of your best friend/boyfriend. 

I could hear her firing off spells, protective barriers, spells to hide. When I could make out something early, or anticipate her, I cast it with her, doubled the strength. Really, we could have figured it all out beforehand, like properly organized, logical mages. But now wasn’t the most organized or rational, and I wasn’t willing to even try. It still felt like survival. Worse, it felt like _Simon’s_ survival. 

We didn’t talk while we worked, even though I had questions. It was impossible to think about anything but exactly what we were doing in the moment. By the end we were both drained. I hadn’t had much to begin with, honestly. I needed to sleep. I needed to eat. I needed a bloody chance to relax without getting attacked or having to think up about 20 different lies. 

We drug ourselves back into the room, and I heard Bunce murmur a spell at the entrance way. She was practically leaking spells, whispering them around the room, under her breath and away from Snow’s ears. 

Then she threw her head back and said. “I need to plunge my entire head in the sink.” 

“Just take a shower,” I said, and saw her shake her head. Not willing to argue, I guess, she just wasn’t going to do it. Probably, it felt like it would take too long. Or maybe it just felt too vulnerable. 

Simon was sitting at the window, staring out at the street. For a moment I thought he’d seen us, before I realized it was practically impossible to see anything with the lack of light, and that we probably didn’t look like anything anyway. I didn’t even think he could _feel_ the magick. Something that worked for us, for once. 

I watched him for a few seconds, but he ignored me. So I sat down on the bed, before giving in and just collapsing against it, sprawling. 

I closed my eyes, and lost track of time. At some point, the bed dipped, and then Snow was there. Not touching me, but close enough. 

The bathroom door was still closed, but I couldn’t tell if there was water running. It was hard to hear anything over the blood pulsing against my head. 

I thought I could see Bunce’s hair pressed against the front door, in the corner of my eye, like she was slumped against it. But I couldn’t focus my eyes enough to tell if it was just shadow, tricking me. 

“What happened, then?” Simon asked. His voice was quiet. “Out there?” 

“We...” My throat was dry. My voice came out ragged and thick. I cleared it, quietly. “We looked around. Checked the shadows. It doesn’t look like they know where we are.” 

“Good.” He didn’t say anything else. 

I turned my head to look at him, and found him already looking. He held my gaze, for once not looking embarrassed or nervous. 

“It’s a good thing we moved to the motel,” I said, because I wanted him to know _something_ was against him and blind bad luck, even if I couldn’t tell him most of it. “We should be... protected. More.” 

Merlin I was tired. My eyelids drooped again, and I let them. 

When I opened my eyes again the room seemed darker. In front of me, Simon was looking at me through half-lidded eyes. 

“Thank you for checking,” Simon said, and my brain took too long to catch back up. 

“Of course, Snow.” He was swimming before my eyes. It was getting harder, pulling myself together. Keeping myself from saying anything dangerous. Crowley, it all felt ridiculously stupid now. I suppose most things do, this close to it all being ended. “I just... I just want you to be safe. I’d do anything to make sure nothing happens to you.” 

“But what if something happens to _you_?” Simon said, without hesitating. He was still whispering. 

“Then Bunce-” 

“No, I mean...” He shook his head, a small gesture against the pillow. 

“I thought that I’d already failed,” I told him, and it was a relief, to say it. “I _did_ already fail. I let you get hurt. And everytime I look at you, I can see you... lying there.” 

Even now. Even when he looked completely alive, ready to destroy anything trying to stop him. It was impossible to forget. 

His body, on the floor. His face in the hospital. 

He was looking at me strange, appraising. But he didn’t say anything. I didn’t really expect him to, honestly. 

I think I’d alway thought that once I started telling Simon Snow my secrets, there’d be no way to end it. I was like a broken faucet, pouring myself towards him, whether he wanted me to or not. And it felt _good_ , the way forcing a bone back into place felt. 

His blue eyes were on mine, and he had no idea what I was talking about, no idea about any of it. 

“You’re important,” I said, and it came out more intense than I’d wanted it to. Like a pronouncement. Like a promise. “You’re so _important_. To everyone. But... Simon you’re-” My throat felt tight. “you’re important to _me_. And I don’t want to- I can’t. _Lose you_. Again. And this time it would be... Real.” 

He kept looking at me. 

And then he was kissing me. 

Not like the last time, when everything had felt frantic and headed towards an explosion. 

It was a short kiss. Just his mouth, warm, soft, pushed again mine so gently I could have tricked myself into thinking it wasn’t happening at all. Then he pulled back, forehead still pressed against mine. 

“I’m right here, Baz.” I couldn’t stop looking into his eyes, because they were so bright, burning, even as they were closing. “I’m staying right here.” 

He was asleep against me, so fast it was like he’d never been awake. 

He was asleep, brushed up against my arm, leaving me alone with all of this bloody- all of _this_. 

My heart was jammed somewhere in my throat, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. 

This was... 

Not new- not the wanting. Not the looking at him. Not even _having_ him. This, out of everything, should have felt more like a return to last year. 

But it didn’t feel like that. 

I closed my eyes again, blocking out the sight of him laying there, slack jawed and restless against the bed. 

It felt like I was falling in love with him. 

Which was ridiculous, obviously. I’d _been_ in love with him. I’d had years of it already. But then why did it feel like- like actually, newly _falling?_ It felt like falling for a new person. It didn’t feel pleasant either. It felt, ridiculously, like cheating. And it felt just plain ridiculous, the idea of it. But that doesn’t matter. Because it was absolutely happening. 

I turned towards the ceiling. Breathing felt hard- harder still because I was worried to move too much and wake Simon back up. Part of me wanted to wake him up on purpose, whether to demand he get me some answers or just kiss him again. I locked that part up best I could, the way I’d gotten used to locking away hunger when it came. 

This felt just as confusing. Just as dangerous, too. 

I don’t remember what it felt like, falling in love with Simon the first time around. I was younger and angrier and more willing to ignore myself when I was looking at anything I didn’t want to see. I might have fallen in love with him right away- sometimes I’m sure I did. The skin and bones, pasty boy reaching out to me on our first day at Watford. Or it could have been later, sometime after a few long hours of watching him toss and turn in his sleep, feeling him push me into walls and grass, smelling his magick so often I could practically pinpoint exactly where he was so easily I didn’t even notice. What it comes to, is that by the time I realized I was already fargone, catching up with the rest of me and my hellish situation. 

I wasn’t paying attention the first time. So I have no idea if it feels different this time around or not, if this is what falling for Simon Snow is _supposed_ to feel like. 

But it’s softer than it ever was before. Maybe because for once, I’m not trying to fight it. Or maybe we’re both two different people now. 

Or maybe it’s just that Simon is. 

The thinking, the questioning, is enough to drive me crazy. After a few seconds of uncertainty, back to looking out of the corner of my eye at Simon and his jumpy eyelids that looked ready to shoot open if I did anything wrong, I carefully got out of bed. 

Bunce wasn’t at the door anymore, if she’d ever been. I opened it and slipped out noiselessly. 

If nothing else, I could fortify the building again, now that I had a little magick back. (Not much, but I was running on adrenaline and maybe 10 minutes of actual sleep, and that was good for something at least.) I could be look out, in case we were unlucky enough to need one. 

Bunce was sitting on the steps, apparently already having had that idea. There was a shimmer in front of her, the idea of light- she’d probably cast something to make it easier for her to see. 

“Baz,” She said, before I got to her. More an acknowledgment than anything else. Maybe just an announcement that she knew I was there. 

I sat next to her, and resisted the urge to rest my face on my knees and pass out. 

She let me just stare, silently into the night, where I couldn’t see a thing, for a long while. For someone who could easily talk circles around most people, Bunce could be excellent at silence. (I suppose you could say the same thing about me.) 

Then she cast, “ ** _On deaf ears_**.” and gave me her hand. She pulled me off the steps, and we walked down to the front of the motel. I could still feel our spells there, but she casted again wherever thing felt a bit weakened. 

“Tell me about your night.” 

She yawned, loudly, and shook her head, but talked to me anyway. “They were casting a spell to put us to sleep. Apparently that went out the window, though, when you two got out, because they knocked me over the head instead. It was more effective at least.” 

“Do you need ice?” I asked, but she shook her head again. 

“I don’t really feel anything.” 

“That’s probably not a _good_ thing, Bunce,” I pointed out. 

“You were right,” She said, ignoring me. “They were after Simon. They probably followed us here.” 

She turned her head to look at me, eyes narrowed. “If you say I told you so I will spell your mouth closed.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I held my hands up to her. Then I let them drop, and the heaviness of the night came back. “Did you overhear anything?” 

“Overhear?” She barked out a humorless laugh. “He _told_ me, like a bad villain in a film. Casting a tornado on them might have been a bit too far, but that’s why I didn’t feel bad about it. He was so _arrogant_.” 

I raised my eyebrows at her and she shrugged. Bunce casting a tornado in the middle of Quebec should have shocked me more. But instead, all I was wondering was, “Why did they want him?” 

Immediately it was clear she didn’t want to tell me. She wouldn’t look at me. 

I let the silence stretch, a little afraid, myself, to hear it. We were both staring out at the road, back against the side of the building, both of us barely even awake yet nowhere near falling asleep ever again. 

Then she said, “They want to take him apart, I think.” 

She looked at me, face stoney. “He wasn’t really clear but... I think that that’s the goal. To take something out of him. They think that’s how they can get his power.” 

“Why am I even surprised?” I didn’t try to mask the bitterness in my own voice. “That’s all anybody ever wants from Snow- his _power_.” 

I could hear chirping in the tufts of grass below us, cars somewhere in the distance. It felt like we were the only people around for miles. Of course, I knew, that was unfortunately not the truth. 

“Not everybody,” Bunce said, then added, “If I thought for a _second_ you were going after Simon for ‘power’ I would have gutted you already.” 

I laughed, startled first, then I couldn’t stop. It felt like casting when you were on empty. Like you were using your bones, your blood. Bargaining something gigantic for a moment of _something_. 

“Do you remember,” Bunce said, and she was laughing too. “when Simon tried to trick you into making a vow and nearly stunned himself unconscious second year?” 

“The prat,” I rolled my eyes. “He lost feeling in his right hand for a full week after that, and kept trying to pretend he hadn’t.” 

“How do you even know that?” She laughed. “Oh, wait-” 

“We _lived_ together, Bunce, and he could barely open up a _door_ nevermind watching him try to tie a tie- not that he could do that well beforehand.” 

“ _And_ ,” Bunce interjected. “you were moodily watching him every second of every day, how could I possibly forget _that_.’ 

“Do _you_ remember,” I distracted her. “when he nearly _killed me_ in the Wavering Woods because he was too daft to make sure we didn’t get locked out?” 

“That was mostly your fault,” She said. “ _You_ lured him there.” 

“Not _well_ ,” I defended myself. “It was an obvious lie. Plus, he should have expected me to be lying- he was supposed to be the Chosen One On Top Of All Things.” 

“Him expecting you to be lying or trying to kill him never actually worked to stop him,” She pointed out. 

“A bloody terrible hero,” I shook my head. 

“No, too _good_ of a hero,” She corrected me, and sighed, tired. 

“A bloody terrible _mage_ ,” I compromised. “If only because he spent more time playing solider than actually working on school work or spells. Why learn actual defensive spells when you could just go off like a bomb?” 

“He did _try_.” I saw her cross her arms. 

“Yes, and _I_ tried to get the smell of smoke out of our room constantly, but neither of those efforts did much, did they?” 

She shrugged. “It’s not his fault he was a bomb.” She let out a breath. “It really _was_ impossible to get rid of the smell of it, though.” 

“After he went off on that chimera I could smell it for weeks. I think that was the only time he actually managed to sneak up on me- my brain was already too addled by him and his magick to notice any more of it.” 

“Do you remember,” Bunce said, lifting one eyebrow. “when Simon spent an _entire year_ shrugging off absolutely everything just to stalk you day and night?” 

“Remember?” I scoffed. “He didn’t give me a second to breathe, how can I forget? I swear I almost killed him a few times. It would have been highly undignified. He probably would have been glad, though- he would have given up his own Chosen little life just for me to ruin mine by letting it slip I was a vampire.” 

“He spent a full year obsessing over you,” Bunce said, shaking her head. “A _year_ of talking about you nonstop. Nevermind all the obsessing before that. And it really took him two more years to figure out what that _meant_ , Morgan’s tooth, both of you are so _dense_!” 

“Excuse me, Bunce, _both_ of us?” 

“This isn’t all on Simon, you were equally as stupid.” 

I thought about Simon, where I’d left him. Thought about Simon, and how he’d always looked before, like he was about to march off to battle. 

He’d looked more at peace than I’d seen him all our years at Watford. I wished I could have him like that, not prepared to die at every turn, and still have him prepared to actually survive. 

“I don’t know what to do, Penny.” 

“I know.” She let out a long sigh. “I don’t either, obviously. I mean, there’s about a million questions we could ask, letters we could send, emergency spells to try, procedures we could fly off to.” She was ticking each option against her fingers like a long to do list. “But none of that feels like it’s going to work, does it?” Her voice got soft. “It’s hard. Harder now, somehow. I didn’t think it would be.” 

“Everything is different.” 

“Some of it is the same,” She pointed out. I saw her square her shoulders, weary and wary as ever. I knew, from experience, that this was Penelope Bunce’s version of preparing for battle. “Magick and controlling arses are always the same.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked. 

“Somehow, definitely,” She said. “I’ve got to be. Are _you_ , Basil?” 

“No, I’m planning on burning down the motel and then draining The Coven one by one,” I said. 

“Well, at least you have a plan.” 

“I’ll be okay _enough_.” I let out a long breath. “Okay enough to protect him, at least, and get us out of here alive.” 

“Then get some rest so you can do that in the morning,” She suggested. When I didn’t move she said, “Then relax and smoke a cigarette like the overstrung rich rebellious teen you are.” 

“I’m not a teenager,” I pointed out, but took out a cigarette. I’d kept a small stash in my trousers since we got to Canada, just in case. 

“Emotionally,” She replied. “ ** _Fire burn and cauldron bubble_**.” 

The cigarette lit, red against the dark gray of the world. I took a deep drag off of it, holding the smoke in my mouth. 

I heard something drop, but I was too exhausted for it to mean anything, at first. 

It was because of the red light imprinted on my eyes that I didn’t see him- but Bunce did. She straightened up so fast she’d already kicked off from the wall before I made him out, walking towards us, then past us. 

Simon was moving fast, breaking into a run when he hit the road. And I was running after him, before Bunce grabbed me by the arm and stopped me. 

“Maybe- maybe he didn’t...” 

He might have only been there for a second. He might have managed to miss Bunce lighting my cigarette. It was all a possibility, like everything else was (maybe the Coven would change their minds, maybe the group that had tried to take him once wouldn’t try again), but it wasn’t the truth. 

I’d seen his face. And I knew it, without a shred of doubt. 

Simon had seen us. Simon had _heard_ us. 


	15. The Truth for Simon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon runs away, and the truth comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 5 more chapters left! Wooh!

The fireworks did something to me, when I’d seen them at the party. I can’t really explain what. But seeing them go off- just a few seconds, really, before everything turned to complete shite and Baz half dragged me outside- felt like something slamming into my chest. My head turned hot, like a bad fever, but then _everything_ was hot, because I was running- and running, like I knew what I was doing- and my whole body felt like it was overheating. The fireworks, and the running for our lives. It didn’t feel like it was _unlocking_ anything- my memories-, the way they said I should be watching for, but more like I could actually see the lock for once. 

But none of that mattered, because Penny was trapped by lunatics and Baz was locking me in our motel room and I could barely breathe. 

I didn’t bring it up. Didn’t mention any part of it, even once we got away from the people chasing us and I felt less like I was going to explode or get us both caught. 

For a second, I meant to. I almost did, because it’s hard to know what actually means something when you don’t _know_ anything, but then Penny was there and, well, it really didn’t matter. In the grand scheme of everything else- it’s not like it was life or death. 

But it was in the back of my head. It must have been there still, when I finally fell asleep wondering what in the hell I was doing, touching Baz. (I’m not going to say I regret kissing him, because I more sort of regret _not_ kissing him whenever possible, but I definitely wasn’t actually thinking about it when I did it. My brain was mostly shut off already.) Anyway, that must have been why I had the dreams. 

They were different, finally, from the room and figure in the doorway. I hadn’t actually had that dream in a few nights, just sleep and nothing else. But this dream- dreams- felt like the way that one had. Like they’d actually happened. I wasn’t ready to think of them as memories, but... I wasn’t sure what else felt more true. 

It wasn’t clear like the other dream. Like my dream about the room was a film that kept playing every night. This was more like a clip show, small moments of things I sort of maybe remembered. 

Hiding, pushed to the ground, next to a road while Penny held on to me. Running towards Baz like I was ready to kill him. Heat. So much heat. Like I was in the middle of a fire. And actually fire, and smoke, in the woods somewhere, and in the middle of a town. 

In every one of them my heart felt like it was about to explode. And in every one of them I could smell an acrid, smokey smell like something that shouldn’t be burned being melted right in front of your face. 

My heart was hammering when I woke up, and I wasn’t exactly surprised because it had been racing the whole time, in the dream and in real life. But that wasn’t what woke me up. 

The thing that woke me up was a weird feeling all over my body. 

Like pins and needles, almost, but softer. Sort of like the way static looks. 

And I didn’t know what it meant, or if it had something to do with my dream somehow, but I knew it meant _something_. 

Baz wasn’t in the bed anymore. That got my attention off of the weird buzzing under my skin. I swung my legs over the bed, trying to peer into the dark in case I’d missed something. 

Penny wasn’t there either. The bathroom door was open and the room was empty, and I couldn’t hear either of them on the stairs outside, so I shot up, went for the door. 

My mind was on kidnappers, and murderers, and human trafficking, and the fact that they wouldn’t let me help them before so now they were probably out there alone or already _taken_ and I’d just been lying in bed. 

I had to resist the urge to throw the door open and run down the stairs. But it was so quiet inside of the room and outside of it that I couldn’t make myself break it. So I just crept out, almost silent. More silent than I thought I’d be, on the metal steps. 

And once I got to the bottom of the stairs I could hear them. 

They sounded... off. It reminded me of that night, days ago, when they were arguing and I was trying to stay awake. It was the same sort of sound, like underwater. 

But not as bad this time, almost as if they were closer somehow. Easier to actually hear them, and make out the words. 

The buzzing, staticky feeling was only getting worse. Like it had gotten heavier while I was distracted, looking for the two of them, or like _it_ was closer too. 

It was just weird enough to make me feel like I was still dreaming. I pressed my nails into my arm to make sure I wasn’t. 

I still wasn’t sure, even after that. 

I was even less sure, when I started actually paying attention. Honestly, the first thing I noticed was just that they seemed so much more comfortable around each other than they did around me. Or with me, mostly. 

They sounded tired, but not the kind of tired they’d sounded before- the kind where you’re ready to try to end someone over breathing too loud. The tension had taken getting used to, but I guess I had, at some point. They were laughing even. Hearing them without it, relaxed almost, was enough to make me freeze where I was, wonder exactly what I thought I was doing- what _they_ were doing. 

Old suspicions were jabbing at the back of my brain. Not exactly the ones I’d had back at the hospital (I was 99% sure I wasn’t a spy, and that they weren’t kidnapping me, unless I really, really had no idea what was going on), I didn’t really think they were trying to do anything to me at all- or, I definitely didn’t want to think that, about either of them. But there was enough of a _feeling_ to make me stop, listen. 

It still took a second to actually _hear_ what they were saying. 

And another second after that to make any sense of it. 

“A bloody terrible hero.” 

“No,” Penny’s voice. “too _good_ of a hero.” 

“A bloody terrible _mage_.” 

I felt myself stiffen. Felt my heart jolt, even though I wasn’t sure why. It didn’t really mean anything to me, except that it _did_. Or, that it had- would have, if I hadn’t lost access to so much of my brain. 

It felt like something was trying to break through a wall, but a wall I knew wasn’t about to let it through. Scooping a spoon against something that was already empty. 

I thought about how I’d thought I could finally see the lock. It didn’t feel as much like a good thing anymore. 

They kept talking, and I kept listening, hard knot behind my ribs tightening and almost choking me. I sort of wanted to leave- go back up to the room and pretend none of this had happened. (Maybe it wasn’t happening at all. Maybe I was sleep walking, or I really did have a fever and I was hallucinating). But I was rooted to the spot anyway. 

They were talking about me. Past me. _Now_ me. I couldn’t recognize either one, the way they talked. I didn’t recognize either of them either. 

Baz said “vampire” all casual but serious, and Penny said “magic”, and I had the sudden but definitely certain understanding that this was the way that they talked to each other normally. When I wasn’t around. This was who they were, normally. 

Two people who talked about magic and spells and _vampires_ and didn’t flinch or laugh at themselves. 

And that was doing something to me, slowly. I don’t know what it would have been, exactly. A pressure behind my eyes, so far. 

That they were so obviously pretending when they talked to me or the fact that they were talking about _magic_ , I didn’t know which one was making me panic, but one of them did it. I couldn’t breathe. Still couldn’t move. 

And then. 

And then Penny said something, and fire leaped out of her hands. 

Whatever the pressure was, for a second it made my entire mind go blank. And then I was moving, without meaning to be. All of the sudden instead of not being able to move at all, I couldn’t stop. 

They looked up at me. 

Guilty. 

Scared. 

The fire had proven it. Proved enough- that there was magic, that it was real. That _they_ were magic. 

But their faces were what made me run. 

I wanted to tell myself that all of this was stupid. Bloody impossible. Or that it was just some misunderstanding. 

Not the magic. 

No matter what I wanted to be real or not, I couldn’t shake the knowledge that _that_ was real. That that was something I’d known. That I’d done. 

But they looked guilty, they looked afraid. 

Because all this time, they’d been lying. 

About... everything, maybe. About enough, anyway. And I couldn’t think beyond that. 

I was just running. Just letting my body go, do whatever it wanted without my brain getting in the way. Because my brain was stuck on it, on their faces and the things they’d been saying that hadn’t made any sense. I could feel pain jolt up my leg when it landed wrong, but that was somewhere deep in the back of my head where it didn’t mean anything. 

Mostly, I just felt hot. 

More than hot, actually, I realized when I tried to breathe. 

I could see fire in my mind. Fire from the dreams, and the feeling of it. I felt like my skin was going to melt off. 

It was so much worse than it had been before. 

I’d thought about bursting into flame before, but it had never actually felt like I could. Now it would have been almost a relief to let myself. 

“... _tried to get the smell of smoke out of our room_.” 

I could smell it. Acrid and wrong. Thick in my mouth. I could smell it so much stronger than in my dreams. Or from the panic attacks in my flat. 

And it was worse- so, so much worse now, because it meant.... It meant maybe it was real. 

“ _...go off like a bomb.”_

_“It’s not his fault he’s a bomb.”_

Oh God. 

I was going to hurt someone. 

I was going to hurt myself, and maybe set half of the city on fire. 

I was going to burn everything down, and there was nothing I could do about it. 

It was impossible. It was true. It was true. I could feel it, inside of me, pressing against my body like it wanted to come out. 

I kept running. 

Couldn’t make myself calm down, but the running helped, a little. The moving, I guess. I wasn’t ‘going off’ at least. I wasn’t turning into whatever _that_ had been. 

But I wasn’t sure I could keep it that way. 

I didn’t know _anything_. 

There was a gas station up the road, and I dragged myself towards it, legs tired but still managing to run. I pushed through the doors, and resisted the urge to just crumple against the wall and pass out. 

I made my way to the back- my luck wasn’t good enough for the back wall to be out of sight, but it would have to do- and leaned against the wall, half-heartedly trying to look interested in the crisps. 

My whole body was pounding. My eyes were pounding, even. I had to give in a little, and curl closer to the wall, ignoring the shop all together. 

Then I forced my eyes open and made myself breathe. Blend in. That felt right. Difficult, maybe, with the clerk staring at me, but, it was something to concentrate on. 

I bought a slushie, because I had to buy something. And I needed something cold anyway. 

I was more glad I’d picked out a slushie when took my first sip from the straw, because the sugar made me feel a little better right away. More focused. A little less like I was about to fall asleep or go into another coma. 

But my heart still was hammering in my chest. And I’d barely managed to speak to the man behind the counter, because my throat was still on fire and so tight I didn’t know how I was breathing at all. 

I couldn’t swallow it, either, without a fight. 

I just stood there, slushie freezing my hand while I tried to ignore how hot the rest of me was, forcing a sip every few seconds and then just holding it in my mouth until it sort of slid into my throat. I was outside of the gas station, back against the wall. My legs gave out, slowly, til I was sliding down it, then was sitting on the ground next to the door. 

Vampire. Magic. Bomb. Magic. Mage. Hero. 

I closed my eyes again. 

I was trying not to think about them. Just breathe and stay upright and not _kill_ anyone, just in case I was actually capable of killing someone. 

I don’t know how long I was actually sitting there. Long enough for my fingers to go numb against the cup. 

Then I heard voices. Couldn’t make out what they were saying or anything, but they sounded male and _close_ so I sat up, and made myself look around. 

Whoever it was, they were in the shadows, just a little ways away from me. I didn’t think it was _them_ , not really. But I also wasn’t sure I could even pick them out of a crowd, if I had to. Any of them but Cole. 

I was such an idiot. 

A complete idiot. 

A complete idiot who now had to worry about getting kidnapped _and_ possibly burning someone alive. 

My feet felt numb when I pulled myself up, and for a second I thought I was going to fall right onto my face, but I stayed upright. I headed back into the shop and ignored the look the clerk was giving me. 

Making a line back to my position by the farest wall, I locked my eyes on the shelf so I didn’t have to look at anything else dead on. My vision was a bit black around the edge- worrying, honestly. 

The clerk behind the counter had his eyes narrowed at me. He probably thought I was homeless. Or a drug addict come to sleep in his shop Or both. 

I _might_ have slept in the shop. It felt tempting. 

I only stayed standing for a few minutes before I was back on the ground. I was shaking. I didn’t know how long I’d been shaking. 

Then the doors slammed open. 

I saw the clerk jump, the top of his head bobbing up from above the rack of sweets, but I couldn’t see the doors from where I was. 

I knew who it was anyway. Not like it could have been anyone else. Not after everything else tonight. 

Baz’s eyes were wild. 

Like, wild, scary. I thought again _vampire_ , and had my back pushed up against the wall, trying to get away from him, before I’d even thought about doing it. 

He just stared. 

He was breathing like he’d run across town to get me, whole body moving while he sucked in air. _Had_ he run across town- I didn’t actually know where I was, I realized. 

Not like I’d been paying attention. 

Hadn’t even been an option, really. How was I supposed to pay attention to anything except for... 

“Simon.” His voice was all ragged. 

It was enough to make me try to get away for real. 

I didn’t like the way he said my name. 

I didn’t like that he was saying it at all, honestly. Like he had the right to. 

“Si-” He broke off, maybe realizing that himself. He pressed his lips into a thin line and I refused to look at them. 

I was thinking about the fact that maybe an hour ago I’d been kissing him. I thought I was going to be sick. 

He put out a hand towards me, but kept it far enough away that he wasn’t anywhere near touching me. Good. I didn’t know what I would do if he tried to. 

“Please.” His eyes flicked back in the direction of the counter, and the man there. “Can you just... talk to me? Outside?” 

My back was still against the wall. He licked his lips, and I realized I was trying to check his mouth for fangs. Nothing. But maybe he was just good at hiding them. 

He let out a shaky breath. I remembered him in the motel- before. Before. 

When he’d said he was scared too, and for once I could actually believe it. He looked like that now. It was a bit terrifying- since the last time it had taken someone disappearing with kidnappers. (If that even _was_ what had happened.) 

I guess that- seeing him looking that upset, without trying to hide it, not lying about that at least- was why I went with him. That and that the clerk really did look like he was about to report me, and I had no idea what to say to a bunch of policeman. 

We stopped outside the door- or, I did, and Baz tried to lead me over to somewhere less easy to see, I guess. Which made me think about kidnapping all over again, and lying, and the fact that no one would report me missing if both the people who I actually knew were in on this together. But I took a few steps over, because I really did want to talk. 

Really, I wanted to yell. 

I wanted all my memories back so I knew what was real and what wasn’t, and then to run back to my flat or across the globe. 

But I’d settle for answers, if he was actually going to give any. 

And then I’d think about whether or not I could run without them coming after me, or getting myself killed. 

“I heard you.” 

His jaw tensed. “I assumed.” 

We stared at each other. 

In the back of my mind I noticed that I’d finally stopped feeling like I was going to explode. There was that, at least. I might still throttle Baz, but at least it would be non-magickal violence. 

He was eyeing me like he knew what I was thinking. Not trying to do anything about it either. He just stood there. 

His eyes were still all big and nervous and red. The clerk probably thought he was a homeless addict too. 

“I’m sorry, Simon.” He ran a hand through his hair, and stopped looking at me. “I know that doesn’t-” 

“Even slightly cover it, or mean anything?” I interrupted him. 

He exhaled through his nose. “Yes. But we thought-” 

“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear- to hear your excuses. Or how bad you feel about it now or whatever else you thought up to say. J-Just tell me the truth.” 

“I will,” He answered, immediately. 

“Now.” 

“Not here, Snow. Come back to the motel and we can talk.” 

I shook my head. “You’re not... _luring_ me back, to do whatever you want to me. Like-” I didn’t know _what_ he could do. But it was obviously a lot. 

Could he wipe my memories? 

A trickle of cold ran through my blood. Was he the reason why I didn’t have my memories now? 

“I’m not letting you do anything to me,” I said, firmly. 

He looked actually pained. He took a step back from me, hissing out a breath. “ _Simon_. We wouldn’t _do_ anything-” 

“You lied to me.” My voice was too loud, but I couldn’t reign it in. I was feeling hot again. “You both lied to me for _weeks_.” 

“We did.” No arguing. Or excuses. 

I relaxed, just enough to breathe. 

“ _Why_?” 

“I can’t tell you here, just come with me back to the motel. Please.” 

“How am I supposed to trust you?” 

I watched him close his eyes tight, and take in another breath. I realized he was shaking too. “I don’t know, Snow. I don’t know a bloody thing anymore.” 

“That’s not good enough.” 

He opened his eyes. “I know.” 

We were both quiet for a long minute, then he opened his mouth again, voice lower. 

“I would never hurt you. Bunce would literally rather kill something than see you get hurt.” He hesitated a breath, then added, “She has before.” 

One tiny piece of truth. 

It occurred to me that maybe I didn’t actually want to know. 

“We didn’t lie about that,” Baz said. “We’re your _friends_.” He swallowed on the word. Then straightened, more professional, like emotions were never there. “Also. There are kidnappers looking for you right now. We didn’t lie abut _that_ either.” 

I shot him a look. ‘Human traffickers’ didn’t sound as likely anymore- it was probably a lot _less_ likely. 

“Alright,” He said, finally, with a sigh. “I did lie a bit about that. But not about them being kidnappers. I swear.” 

I didn’t really want to know, not all of the things I’d lived and accidentally left behind. But, I needed to know anyway. 

For about a hundred reasons, including possibly the difference between life and death, or kidnapped and not kidnapped. 

“Fine.” I looked away from him. “But I’m not promising I’m staying.” 

“That’s- That’s fine. Perfect.” I heard him take a few breaths, still slightly laboured. “We need to take a cab.” 

~ 

It was weird how normal the motel looked. I mean, I guess it should have looked that way- _it_ wasn’t magick. (At least, I didn’t think it was, I hadn’t asked.) 

I stared at it for a second after the cab pulled away. Baz was already making his way up the stairs, barely breaking his stride. He’d been complaining in the cab about one of his legs getting pulled in the run, or something like that, but you couldn’t tell now. 

He turned and saw me still standing on solid ground and raised an eyebrow I could barely make out in the dark. 

“Come on, Snow. We’re having this discussion in _private_ , aren’t we?” He cast his eyes around the open parking lot as if it were full of eavesdroppers. It might’ve been, I guess. That didn’t make me feel any better about going back up to the room with him. 

I frowned at him. 

“You can’t do any magick to me,” I said. 

“Aleister Crolwey, Snow, I already promised didn’t I?” 

I hadn’t gotten into the cab until he swore that he wouldn’t try anything. I knew that didn’t really mean Baz _wouldn’t_ do something if he wanted to, but there wasn’t really anything else I could do to feel like I was protecting myself and still let him lead me back to the motel. 

“No memory spells or magically locking the doors or- or compelling me,” I’d demanded. 

“I couldn’t do that anyway,” He’d sounded bored, but I was starting to think that’s what he sounded like when he was panicking. “But I give you my _word_ anyway.” 

“Yeah, well,” I eyed the steps before looking back up at Baz. “Your word doesn’t seem to actually mean anything.” 

I saw his lips twist into something painful before he took a step farther into the shadow and I lost sight of his face completely. 

“That’s fair. But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say or do to get you to believe that I am not trying to trick you, Snow.” 

“I’d make you swear on a bible,” I said. “but I don’t think _vampires_ can do that, can they?” 

He didn’t say anything back, but I heard him mutter something under his breath. 

“What.” 

“You sound like you.” 

My nails were pressing into my palms now from how tightly I’d balled my fists at that. 

“I don’t know what that even means.” 

I heard a door slam shut somewhere in the distance, reminding me we really were right in the open. 

“Snow. Please.” 

His voice didn’t sound bored anymore. It sounded like he couldn’t breathe. 

I didn’t want that to matter to me. It did, though. 

“Fine. For now. If you-” I took a breath. 

“I know. If you want to leave, you can leave. _After_ we talk.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I followed him up the stairs, far enough away that he was already into the doorway before I was halfway up. The light from the room let me see his face again. 

He looked bad. 

Worse than before, at the gas station. It looked like an entire sleepless week had gone by since then. 

He watched me sit on the edge of the bed, and didn’t say a word. Apparently I was supposed to start this. 

Now I couldn’t think of what to ask. 

“What’s going on?” I settled on. Then my blood went hot again, and it poured out. “Why have you been lying to me this entire time? Do you even know me? Did you find me at the hospital and just pretend we were friends? Is- Is magic supposed to be _real_?” 

I felt my heart thud against my chest with the last question. I was still angry. Really angry. But curious too, maybe even a little excited. Not that I was going to admit that to anybody. 

Not even just from the magic (but that was a lot of it), but from the fact that I was _finally_ going to get answers, after weeks of knowing _something_ was off. Well, I was getting answers if I could trust Baz to actually be telling the truth. 

“Magic is real,” He said, slowly. He was leaning against the mirror, making him look like something someone had colored outside the lines of. He was trying not to look at me. His eyes were fixed on the wall near my head. “Very real, and very much willing to hurt you, if you run into the wrong people.” 

One obvious example came to mind. “Who are they?” 

“The Americans?” He let out a long sigh, pushing his hair back again. “A bunch of radicals, it seems like. Not powerful,” He sneered a bit. “but annoying enough to be dangerous if they figure out where we are.” 

“Why are they trying to kidnap us?” I pulled a fist of the comforter up, just to give my hands something to do. I thought I might be shaking again. 

“They’re really only trying to kidnap _you_.” He said it with a completely blank face. 

I opened my mouth to ask the obvious question- why?- but I realized I really didn’t want to. There were more important things. 

Baz moved on without me saying anything. 

“Bunce has been your best friend since the first day of school. You’re horribly supportive of each others’ terrible ideas. She would be horrified if she knew you thought she was trying to sell your organs on the magical black market, or whatever it is you’ve been thinking.” 

“And?” I pushed. He didn’t look like he wanted to keep going. I felt myself tense again, cold, because he hadn’t said _he_ wasn’t a stranger. “What about you?” 

“We...” He started, after an incredibly uncomfortable amount of time. “have also known each other since the first day. We didn’t lie about _everything_ , Snow.” 

“But?” I crossed my arms. “What else?” 

“We were roommates. We didn’t get along. You tried to kill me on several occasions. I tried to kill you on slightly more occasions.” Bored and posh again, like telling me was a waste of his time. 

“Not... Not together, then?” 

“No, we were.” He looked uncomfortable, suddenly, shoulders tense. “We aren’t a fairytale romance, Snow, don’t expect anything _good_ from our story.” 

He was still hesitating. I just stared at him, and waited. 

His face went blank again, voice flat and careless. “We stopped being at each other’s throats in November. Things were.... different. By the end of December.” 

In the back of my mind I was doing the ridiculously simple math. 

“End of December like...?” 

“Christmas Eve.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him. 

All things considered- the magic and the vampirism and the kidnapping and whatever bloody else was going to be dropped on me- it wasn’t that big of a deal. But it still felt like a punch to the gut anyway. One more lie proving I really had no idea what I was supposed to believe, or what my life had been like. 

“If you and I were enemies,” I said, instead of dwelling on the _other_ part of this all. “I’m surprised my ‘best friend’ would be so friendly with you.” 

“Oh, she wasn’t. Keeping a two person vigil over a hospital bed is a surprisingly good way to bond.” 

“You sounded...” I wasn’t sure what to say. Or why I was saying it. 

I didn’t know how I could still be jealous with everything else. 

Especially since Penny wasn’t blameless either. I’d be running from her too, if I decided to run. 

“You shouldn’t have even been able to hear us.” He sounded like he was talking more to himself than to me. 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I told him. 

“I don’t love it either,” He said. He gave me a weird look. “Maybe you-” 

The door slammed open. 

Penny was standing there, and it felt like we’d fallen through time back to her coming home from escaping kidnappers- she looked worse now, though. And she had her eyes locked on me. There were huge tears in them. 

“Simon!” She yelled, before actually crying. 

She took a step forward like she was going to hit me, then slammed her head backwards instead, hitting the wall. She made a noise like a growl. 

I was trying not to look at her- I didn’t even realize it, until she made another growl-noise, even louder, and I had to look up to see her staring at me. 

I didn’t know how to look at her. 

I also didn’t know how to look _away_ from her, while she was looking at me like she wanted to blow something up and I was remembering the way I’d felt her behind me in my dream, trying to keep us both together. 

I was so angry. 

And I was so angry that I couldn’t just be _happy_ that I’d remembered her at all, because they’d had to lie to me and have the whole thing become complicated. 

I wanted to bolt. 

I’d heard enough 

“ _Don’t_ , Simon.” Her forehead was creased, and she was staring at me like she was reading my thoughts and she disapproved of every one of them. 

I pushed at my eyes with the heel of my hands when I felt tears spring into them. 

“You don’t get to tell me what I’m allowed to do,” I tried to keep myself from yelling. “Neither of you gets to tell me to do _anything_. Including- including _trust_ you, because that’s- that’s bloody-” 

Definitely shaking. And hot. 

“What was the point of any of this?” 

“The _point_ -” Penny started, a few tears running down her face while she did her best to ignore them. “was _you_ , Simon! We weren’t about to abandon you.” 

“The Coven- the government- didn’t want us to contact you,” Baz said. “But we didn’t want to leave you in a random flat.” 

“Maybe you should have.” 

“And,” Baz kept going, like I hadn’t said anything. “we thought we could fix it. Bunce thought she could find something to bring your memories back, abroad.” 

“That’s what this holiday was about? Dragging me around to try to make me a lab experiment?” _More_ magic lies? 

Shouldn’t have been surprising. 

I was going to have to just assume everything I thought I could take for granted was actually a coverup. 

“I guess that explains a lot.” The ignoring. The leaving. 

Penny had sunk down to sit on the floor, crying for real now. I stared at Baz instead. 

“What happened to my memories?” I asked, suddenly. “There wasn’t a car crash, was there?” 

“That,” He frowned, taking a slow breath. “take a lot of explanation.” 

“Tell me anyway.” It was automatic. Then the lack of sleep and sudden lack of adrenaline hit me. “Actually. Tell me tomorrow. I...” I closed my eyes. “I can’t take in any more tonight.” 

They both looked at me, Baz’s mouth still an unsure line. “Okay. Tomorrow. We’ll tell you the rest tomorrow.” 

They looked the same way they had the whole time I could remember knowing them. Tired. Upset. But people I’d thought I’d known. 

It made everything harder. 

It was also impossible not to imagine them attacking me, or forcing me into a car. 

Not so far off after all, I thought to myself, numbly. Not spies, but close enough in the end. 

“I need some space.” 

Baz’s eyes flicked to the door before nodding, still not looking at me. 

They left the room, I thought I heard one of them lean against the door. I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how I felt about that- them being right outside the door. 

Back to the ‘checking in with yourself’ part of the hospital pamphlets. 

But I couldn’t figure out how I felt about _anything_ right then, so it didn’t work. 

They’d never covered anything like _this_ in the pamphlets. Magic, or betrayals. 

I tried to get my heart to slow down, but I could still feel it race at every noise, even their voices. Especially their voices. 


	16. Countless Bad Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny and Baz both try to give Simon space and have individual mini emotional break downs.
> 
> (This is a two POV chapter!)

I’m not exactly proud of it, but when Simon called off the holiday I still tried to fight him on it. 

Not because I _wanted_ to stick around in Canada of all places, where there were people stalking us down and not one good cup of tea in sight, but arguing felt better than anything else I could do. 

Simon wasn’t taking the news well. 

I kept trying to picture how it would be if _I’d_ learned that basically everything I thought I knew was a lie, or how I’d feel just now finding out that magick existed, but I know _I’d_ have been asking questions and trying to do tests. I probably wouldn’t give who ever told me a moment’s silence. Simon hadn’t been much interested, after the first rounds of questions. He didn’t even ask us for any more information the next day, even though it was kind of implied- we sat him down anyway. He didn’t look keen to hear any of it. 

That’s the other reason I fought Simon on going home. 

In my head this trip was going to be the thing that made everything else different. Even in my wildest dreams of Nanteos Cup I knew Simon getting his memories back didn't mean going back to normal- “back to normal” didn’t even exist anymore. The Mage was dead, The Humdrum was... sated, I supposed. Watford wasn’t our school anymore. He was snogging his sworn enemy. 

But it was supposed to be the kind of different that was more new and exciting than anything else. Like, moving in to a flat together. Exploring for _fun_ and no other reason. Figuring out what life after the prophecy could actually be for Simon, together. 

Now Simon was making it exceptionally clear that I wasn’t going to be involved in any of that. Or, he didn’t want me to be. (Not entirely the same thing, but also still not great.) 

He’d barely looked at me or Baz, and when he did it was in that suspicious way he used to look at just Baz with, before. I wasn’t used to being on the receiving end. 

It made me feel a bit sick. 

I’d nearly actually been sick the night before, from the stress and the churning of nerves my gut. It was all a bit much to try to deal with, especially stuck outside the motel door with no way of talking Simon into sense (a bit of a pipedream, I can admit) and no place to try to hide it when I started crying again. 

I’m not a big fan of crying. 

The point is, it was a bad night. And it was a bad morning too. And with the way the plane kept moving about and making odd noises, it was going to be a bad flight too. 

Simon had his headphones in, and he was watching a movie that looked ridiculous from what I could see from the screen. 

Baz was sitting on the other side of me, refusing to look at either of us. Just like the rest of the morning. 

Baz had done his fair stare of staring and general looks of fervent yearning (all very awkward, but easy to ignore in the grand scheme) when we were trying to tell Simon the rest of the story. But ever since then he’d been trying not to look at Simon at all- and me too, mostly. 

I thought we’d talk. The night before I’d expected it- not really _wanted_ to, entirely, because I was crying and because I more wanted to break something or cast something awful. But I think it had been a pretty fair expectation, after everything. 

But instead we just sat in silence until I fell asleep. I don’t think Baz slept at all. 

All through the getting packed and the ride over and waiting in the airport, he hadn’t said a single word. Nicks and Slicks, it was driving me completely mad. 

So far it had been a day of me talking and everyone else ignoring me to go stare pithily at a wall. 

Yes, they were hurting, and tired, and probably more than ready to go to their own actual beds and sleep for a few days, but that was no reason to try to throw everything away. This felt like a surrender, and I didn’t like it. 

I wanted to _do_ something. But I couldn’t get either one of them to do anything more than just shrink in on themselves. 

And really, it might’ve been good that Simon was basically just locking himself away best he could and not talking to us, because he was _angry._ Less angry than hurt, I think, but Simon angry is never a good thing, or a safe one. 

I wasn’t really prepared for an explosion- emotional or otherwise. 

Distant and awkward was probably better for all of us. Even though it made me itch. 

I’d grabbed Baz by the sleeve before we started boarding, because all the silent treatment was wearing on me already. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Was about the gist of what I’d asked- though longer, and maybe a little more frantic. 

“Give him space.” He’d sounded tired and sad. Understandably so. 

“Forever?” Shouting. 

“Space _now_ ,” He’d said, narrowing his eyes at me. “and he might actually let you stick around later. Instead of...” 

I’d skipped over it. Gone back to arguing. Started absolutely vibrating against my seat with the struggle of keeping my frustration and adrenaline in check. 

But now I was looking at Simon not looking at us, and it felt less like a threat or an over-reaction. 

Play nice. Give him space. Grovel, if it came to it, though I wouldn’t love doing it. 

I did feel bad. I felt awful. 

Not for the lying, not really. I mean, I really _do_ think that with what we knew, and what The Coven said, we made the right choice. Honestly, the second he’d found out about it he _had_ gone off his rocker. Maybe that was mostly because of the lying (it was hard to prove either way) but not entirely. Some of it was plain shock. He couldn’t handle it. 

And I wasn’t sorry for the holiday. It did some good- before the falling out, obviously. Or for looking for the Cup in the first place, because I couldn’t _not_ look. 

I guess I felt sorry for how he found out, more than anything else. And a bit sorry that I hadn’t spent enough time with him when I still could. 

Not that he was about to cut me off forever. I couldn’t think like that. It was practically an impossibility anyway, with everything we’d already managed to get through. 

Of course, he didn’t actually know about any of that, as much as he’d just heard about it. I hadn’t gotten through it with _this_ version of Simon, had I? 

I pushed the thought away. 

I pulled out a notebook I’d picked up just in case I needed back ups of my notes, or to send some letters. The latter sounded like a good idea. 

Not on a plane, but. Well, there wasn’t much I could do about _that_ right now, and I had to do something or I was going to lose it. 

I started a letter to The Coven at large. Half-way through I wound up tearing the whole thing out, because somewhere between the beginning and the last line I’d written, it had gone from a simple request for information to a series of insults and veiled threats. 

If Mum could see she’d skin me. 

It was still a bit tempting to send, honestly. 

I started a new one instead. 

I wound up starting and throwing out five different letters before having one that sounded alright to actually send- and also didn’t look like it was written on a plane. 

Then, since I was still wedged between two people who were currently pretending the other wasn’t there, and wouldn’t talk to me, I started texting mum. 

The messages wouldn’t go through until we landed (I could technically spell the wifi into connecting to my mobile but I’d never been good at technologic spells and I didn’t really fancy the idea of breaking my phone) but it helped me feel better anyway. 

_“Do you think The Coven would hypothetically change their stance on Simon if he happened to discover magick on his own?”_

_“If there was a threat to Simon’s life isn’t The Coven obligated to do something about it?”_

_“Have you heard anything about threats?”_

_“Threats abroad even?”_

~ 

Being back in England ddn’t feel any better than being in Canada, or Scotland, or Wales. It all felt like being stuck in purgatory. 

Because The Coven wasn’t answering me, and I was forbidden to go and talk to them by my mother who still hadn’t said basically anything about Simon, or the would-be murderers. 

She’d asked if the hypothetical was more that just hypothetical, which, _obviously_ I’d lied about because I wasn’t an idiot, but nothing past that. And pushing mum more would probably get me more trouble than answers at this point. 

So I jumped into research instead. 

It was harder than regular research, because it was nothing any of our older books could help me with. I looked up instances of taking power out of people (that line of thought led in some very disturbing places, but all hypothetical, and all seemingly just legends based around cannibalism) but I couldn’t find anything that actually supported what that were talking about. That in itself wasn’t all that surprising or anything- since they were obviously out of their minds- but normally groups like these, the ones with insane plans and ridiculous ideas, came from _somewhere_. Most of them had some weird obscure myth or story they were basing themselves off of. Apparently this one was an exception- unless they were _really_ stretching their interpretations of one of these cannibal stories. 

So, nothing on that front- not that books could tell me about. I tried the internet too, but it didn’t have much more. Plus, I’m always a bit wary to say too much even on a search bar. All we need is the whole secret of magick getting out because someone decided they really needed to ask Jeeves where Numpties are native to. 

But I tried it anyway, since nothing else was working. I tried to check if there was anything about the specifically Americans too, but that was even harder to search without any specifics. I wished I’d taken a picture of that arse’s face, that might have gotten me something. 

But it was too late for that now. And with my luck it probably wouldn’t have ended up doing me any good anyway. 

I spent an entirely unsatisfying afternoon trying to find out new information without toeing the line or getting in complete trouble with mum, and finding out absolutely nothing, except about 50,000 more iterations of Simon’s prophecy than I ever needed to see. At that point, I didn’t really have a choice anymore. 

All the letters I’d penned The Coven were unanswered and probably unopened, even though it’d been hours since they got them. I tried to put off the inevitable for a few minutes by writing two more, and sending them to their respective mail slots, but the restless frustration was still there by the time I was finished, and there was still no miraculous answer from anyone, so I got up and left the house. 

I walked past a few of the members who didn’t live ridiculously far’s houses, but didn’t try to get too close. I wasn’t trying to get arrested for harassment or stalking- I just wanted to see if they’d checked their mailboxes, or if I could possibly hear some horrified shouting. Preferably guilty-sounding shouting. 

Three of them weren’t home. One was, but I couldn’t see the mail. 

It had been a bad idea anyway, not like it was going to do anything past killing time. This was yet another plan to do something that actually got literally nothing done but trick me into feeling more like I _was_ doing something. I was getting sick of it, honestly. The sitting around, and the not knowing. 

It was completely by accident that I wound up outside of Simon’s flat. 

After a few turn arounds and a bus ride. 

It felt almost normal again, standing on his street. Then I remembered he’d probably dump water on me if he saw me out the window, and it felt a little less normal. 

I wasn’t going to draw attention to myself anyway. 

Simon needed “space”, something I understood even though I didn’t agree or like it. It’s not how Simon normally worked. Normally when he got too much information or too worried or thought he might be about to die, he needed me and Agatha there. We were pack bonders (which was odd, because I don’t actually like people, or know enough people outside of my family to form any kind of sizeable pack. But I guess Simon takes up enough space for the two of us to be a pack by ourselves.) It’s not so much that I hate the idea of Simon being alone than it is I hate the idea of Simon suddenly deciding alone means not with me. 

It feels like one of those things that changes everything after it, a crucial change in the tradition. 

But I was giving him the space anyway, because it wasn’t like I could _make_ Simon want me around. 

And, honestly, yes, Baz was right. And I was really terrified Simon was going to decide he never wanted to see me again. 

It wouldn’t even be that surprising. 

I didn’t spell myself invisible, but I stayed out of his line of sight, if he were to look out a window or poke his head out of the door. He didn’t do either, not that I could tell. 

My head was full of questions about Simon and mad people trying to take other human beings apart, and if The Coven could manage to dodge me forever without me making a scene they could use as an excuse to block me out entirely (they’d made it clear I was pushing the limit there). 

So time went by ridiculously fast, since I was basically having a pre-mental break, and also managing to jump every time someone walked by. It was nearly dark by the time I actually saw something. 

I was outside Simon’s flat because I couldn’t help it, but also because it felt like _someone_ should be watching him (I was surprised that Baz wasn’t already there, honestly). Merlin, it was just tempting fate _not_ to be on alert, even if Simon didn’t want to see us. 

So I wasn’t all that surprised when I saw the goblin. He was spelled to look more like a Normal, but they weren’t great at it. Goblins always got something just wrong enough- hair too vibrant, mouth too big, eyes more like a goat’s than a person’s. This one had legs almost double the size of his torso, and perfectly curled hair. 

I cast a detection spell just to make sure- it wouldn’t be the first time I’d made the assumption and got some talk about paranoia or sensitivity. Yup- Goblin. 

He didn’t do anything, just wandered up and down the street a few times. Then he stared up at Simon’s building for a long time before leaving. 

Goblins, usually, weren’t too dangerous. I mean, they were, in the way that they wanted to kill Simon, but they were one of many groups that wanted to kill Simon and they were historically very bad at it and very easy to kill first. 

But that was when Simon was actually aware that they were trying to kill him _and_ had the magick and swordsmanship to deal enough damage to them. We’d tried to catch him up as much as we could, but 8 whole years of threats and interpersonal relationships isn’t exactly something you can condense perfectly into a tense twenty minute or so one-sided conversation, and even if we _had_ mentioned the goblins- and I honestly couldn’t remember if it had come up or not- it’s not like we could have explained how to defend himself. 

I looked in the direction the goblin had headed, and briefly considered following him. But I wound up staying where I was, because obviously I’d been right to keep a post. 

Then I considered contacting Baz and letting him know there was a goblin looking for Simon- but that would just spark a probably entirely useless search around the city, if Baz even took the time to call He hadn’t been responding to me as it was. 

I groaned. 

It was so stupid. We should have been dealing with this _together_ \- the three of us, or, at least, the two of us. One bloody mistake and now what? We were never going to talk to each other again? 

It was almost enough to make me storm over to Simon’s flat. 

Almost. I was still thinking about Simon refusing to look at me, the veiled threat of _never again_. 

No Simon. No Baz. Mum on my case. The Coven making bad mistake after bad mistake. 

The Coven making the decisions for Simon, and for Baz and I, and then not even having the _decency_ to answer a letter or deal with yet another _murder attempt_ when they would have done anything to protect their “Chosen One” just a few months ago when it was convenient for them. 

I saw white and threw something. It took a second to realize it was my mobile, now cracked and possibly broken on the ground. 

It didn’t make me feel any better. 

I threw a rock at the ground, because now I wanted to throw things even _more_. It also didn’t help, but it was better than doing what I _wanted_ to do. I took a breath. 

I needed to talk to mum, and talk to The Coven, and buy a new mobile, and most of all, I needed to crawl into my bed. 

It was fully dark now. Simon still hadn’t shown his face at all. The goblin had also no reappeared. 

I was just going to have to hope that both those things stayed the same, for the rest of the night. 

I started the trek back home. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Half the day was gone before I even realized I hadn’t eaten breakfast. Or left my room. Or gotten back to my father like he’d asked me to. 

Honestly, I wasn’t worried about that part. Even if I had noticed I probably wouldn't have set out to see or talk to father. I didn’t really want to see _anyone_. 

That was why, once I decided I needed to get out of my room for food at the very least, I stuck to the shadows. The house is only so big, it didn’t mean I wouldn’t run into someone- it most likely, I thought, _wouldn’t_ mean that, because the universe was completely cruel and didn’t even do me any favors. 

I did get faily lucky, and only ran into the weekend maid, who, like usual, did her best not to look at me. 

I used to think that was some type of fear response- an understanding, somehow, that I was a monster and she was prey. Now I wasn’t a self-hating, dramatic teenager, and I realized that she just didn’t like people much- and me in particular. 

I was more than fine with that. It certainly made getting out of the house easier. 

The sun felt heavy and uncomfortable on my skin when I stopped out of the house. 

Normally sunlight feels a bit like an itch you can ignore, or, on worse days, it feels like the after effects of something clawing at you. Right now it was in the middle of the two- raw, but not painful. Still, harder to ignore than it should have been 

I blamed the exhaustion. I hadn’t slept the night before. 

I thought I might have slept a bit while I was in my room during daylight, but only in the way that sometimes completely zoning out so that you’re barely conscious counts as sleep. 

After days and nights of worrying over Snow, and not managing more than a few sparse hours of rest, it was taking its toll. I felt weak. I also felt completely lost. 

I could barely finish a thought without my brain trying to go back to Simon, or force me away from thinking about Simon, depending on the thought. 

I sat under a tree, out of sight of the windows, in case someone decided to look for me. 

Some part of me had expected... more. 

In certain terms, there _was_ more than enough happening and having happened- the bloody drama of it all did not escape me. 

The night with Snow (not to mention Bunce’s angry crying) was example enough of that. But it felt like things were only half finished. 

Things with Snow tend to end with an explosion- and things with me tend to end in flames. Tense silence on an airplane, or my former-nemesis threatening not to speak to me were. Well, less than ideal, I’ll be honest. But certainly nothing as bad as I’d learned to expect. And it didn’t feel as if I’d slipped past what could have been worse, more like it was lurking in the future somewhere. 

The thought made me want to leave the country again. 

I didn’t know how much more of this I could deal with without a proper night’s sleep, a full amount of blood, and maybe the number for yet another ‘very understanding’ therapist my parents sought out. 

I was waiting for something there, too- with my parents. But that was more unavoidable, beyond what I’d already managed to avoid. Hence, the hiding underneath a tree. 

What I wanted, beyond the other magick-forsaken shoe to drop, was to talk to Snow. Even talking to him pre-his awakening has been better than knowing that he was out there, and not actually knowing where, or being able to contact him if I wanted to. 

It felt a bit ridiculous. How upsetting the thought was. After all, teenaged Baz had only ever wanted Simon to possibly feel bad before killing him, and, maybe a passionate make out session beforehand. The whole idea of keeping in contact, or actually _talking_ to him would have been a completely foreign concept. 

It was strange that it was almost normal now. 

Especially because it wasn’t a normal I’d grown used to with the change of our relationship, but only with the change of Simon. 

I thought about the fact that we were meant to be keeping away from him- for our own sakes with The Coven, and for Simon’s sake. And, of course, because Simon was liable at any moment to attack or simply push us out of his life completely. 

I could see his face in my mind, and it was a mash up of the way he’d looked at me before the last time he’d kissed me, and the way he’d looked at me when he saw me burst my way into the gas station’s shop. The only things in common, really, were surprise, and a tired resolve. 

I stood up, from the tree’s shadow, and heard one of the twins’ voices not too far from me. That decided it for me, then. 

I left the grounds as quickly as I could. 

~ 

I’d already bought the phone and gotten halfway home before I realized that it was a fairly awful plan. 

For one thing, Simon probably wouldn’t want to hear from me. Face to face versus phone call wasn’t going to be that big of a decider. And, second, I didn't have Simon’s number. 

Though the first problem should have concerned me the most, I was actually more focused on the second. 

It took me a few moments of hesitation before I decided to risk it- both the situation at large, and my own pride- and ask Bunce. 

I was only a few minutes away from my house, and I wasn't interested in getting much closer, so when it went directly to voicemail, I just tried again, leaning against one of the few, sad trees near me. 

It was getting dark out- I’d spent the vast majority of the day already. I was vaguely proud of my ability to avoid the house and the people in it, but the day wasn’t over and family dinner wouldn’t be as easy to get out of. Not without some type of scene, anyway. 

Bunce’s phone went to voicemail 5 times before I gave up on it. Maybe she was too involved in diving into her home library, or trying to create a new spell for memory loss to pick up. I pocketed my new mobile and slowly walked back home. 

I was luckier going in then I’d been going out. I didn’t see a single person on my way into the house, or into my room. It was, most likely, because I was definitely missing dinner, and they were all in the dining room. I could assume that someone had tried to come for me in that time I’d been away, and I’d missed the summons. 

All the luckier. 

I stared at my mobile, hoping for some sort of message from Bunce. Eventually I had to give up yet another piece of my dignity. 

Daphne keeps phonebooks, Merlin knows why, and they were all in the bottom of the linen closet, pushed to the back like a dirty secret. 

Normally, quite odd and easy to roll my eyes at. Now, a godsend. 

I found the number and only hesitated for a second before punching it in, and preparing myself for whatever came after. 

“Mitali Bunce.” Bunce’s mother sounded just as unyielding as ever. I wondered how anyone ever called her without immediately wanting to hang up. 

“This is Basilton Pitch,” I said, in what I hoped was a polite tone without any of the pitfalls Bunce loved to make fun of me for. Mitali already didn’t like me- I could at least avoid sounding ‘insultingly posh’. 

“T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” She answered, and I couldn’t tell if she was acknowledging me or correcting me on my name. Her tone was still flat and unquestionable. Maybe a bit annoyed now too. 

Part of me wanted to say something rude, just because of instinct. It was how I was raised, after all. Instead I said, “Precisely.” 

She didn’t say anything for a long minute. 

“Why are you calling my phone?” Definitely annoyed now. 

“I was hoping- I was hoping to speak to Penelope, if that’s at all possible. Is she home?” 

She didn’t answer, yet again, but I could hear her moving. Then, the less annoyed Bunce’s voice. 

“What’s happened, Baz?” She sounded a bit like she _wanted_ something to have happened. Or just as if she was ready for something to tackle. 

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing,” She repeated, flatly. 

“I.” I cleared my throat. Again, I realized this was a bad plan. 

“What, Baz?” 

“You didn’t answer your phone,” I said instead. 

“What, were you worried about me?” She sounded surprised. 

“There are kidnappers,” I stated. 

“Kidnappers,” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I escaped without more than a bruise.” 

“I know. I wasn’t... I am worried. But not about you getting attacked, I think it would make more sense to be worried about you attacking other people.” 

“My phone broke,” She told me. “Why did you really call, Baz?” 

“I need Simon’s number.” I said it quick, so I couldn’t think about it. 

“Oh.” 

There was silence on the line, from both of us. 

“I thought we were giving him space,” She said. She sounded scared, the barest edge of it noticeable except that I’d heard Bunce scared before. It was only slightly covered with something too weak to be sarcasm. “Time to be alone, and grow, and all of that.” 

“Yes, I did-” 

“Baz,” She cut me off, but then it was just silent again. “I just don’t like any of this.” 

“I don’t either.” 

Then she gave me his number. 

“I’m saving your number under something stupid,” She told me before we hung up, instead of saying goodbye. 

_“Simon, could we talk, please?”_

I was staring at the screen, waiting for some kind of answer, when my door opened. 

My father was standing in the doorway. Watching me, like he thought I was about to rush over to him. I watched him back. 

I was so tired. Bone tired, really. 

More than a lack of sleep, or lack of blood, though they were both bad enough. 

“Are you going to explain, Basilton?” 

I shook my head, not as an answer, but because I wasn’t even sure what he wanted _explained_. I didn’t even know what he thought he knew. What he thought I should apologize for- which was, of course, what he’d actually meant. 

“There are eyes on all of us,” He said, in the same voice he’d been using since I was eleven. The Patriarch voice. The ‘general for the families’ voice. “You know you can’t just go traipsing off with that... Leaving like that. You disappeared when we needed you, and you still haven’t come to me. To any of us. We just want to know-” 

“I don’t really care what it is you and the others want,” I cut him off. I think I was probably just as surprised as he was that I’d said it. But it felt good. Like some relief, finally. “Loyalty? In a war that never came to pass? Information, maybe, to use against someone who isn’t even a threat?” My lip curled. “You can count me out of that.” 

He was staring at me. As close to dumbstruck as I’d seen him in years. 

“Basilton, you are still a member of this family, and our community.” He sounded like he was getting angry now, outweighing the initial shock. Maybe hurt, too, though I couldn’t dwell on that. 

“Our community,” I echoed. “A community who would gladly kill me if they knew what I was. And who would kill Snow right now, if they thought they could get away with it.” 

A strange expression came onto his face, and he looked away. From the mention of Simon, I could assume. 

Just seeing that. The way he couldn’t look at me, and wouldn’t try even to tell me I was wrong- about any of it- set something off in me. Something that had been tightly wound, for a long time. 

“It’s always been about appearances,” I spat. “And _power_. Looking the most powerful, moving everything else out of the way. I didn’t come back to England to parade around with the others and pretend I’m a damn thing other than what I am. I am not a weapon. Or a spy. Not anymore, father. Especially not _now_ , now that it’s some child’s club full of people who want to pretend they still have the power to take over. People who would rather watch someone get hunted down and killed than lift a hand to try to stop the murderers, all because he isn’t one the ‘right people’.” 

Father’s face was white. 

I wondered why I didn’t do this sooner. It would have made more sense- pulling away when it actually meant something. It would have changed something, maybe. 

But this still felt like I was changing something anyway. 

Or maybe it was just simple catharsis. 

I’d never been a person without wants, but I’d always been a person willing to quiet them. Shape them instead into something those around me wanted- power, freedom, Simon Snow no longer an obstacle. 

I tested the waters. I stayed patient. And subtle. And calculating. 

And Crowley, I didn’t feel like it anymore. 

I didn’t feel like performing needless rituals and giving polished lies. Holding anything in, and just hoping things aligned in the future. 

My vision was going blurred. I realized I was standing up. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” He said it in something close to a whisper, like I wasn’t even meant to hear it. 

I laughed. 

“This is who I am, father. Angry.” I took another step towards him. “Hungry.” His eyes were wide. “Incurably _gay_ and in love with your worst nightmare. No smoothing over that. Especially-” We were face to face now. “if I find out The Families were behind any of this.” 

We stared at each other for a long time. I expected him to say something, but after a time my father just turned and left. 

I sat back against the bed, head spinning now from what could have been anything. 

I pulled out my phone one more time. 

I moved to write something else to Simon, but paused. The phonebook was still next to my bed, full of the only good thing The Families had given me- connections. 

Maybe it was time to set up some visits. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

I was outside of Simon’s flat again, and still feeling a bit off about it. 

Partially because I thought I might be taken in by a Normal policeman for “stalking”, and partially because of everything else. 

I’d called Baz before leaving for Simon’s, since he’d randomly decided to _finally_ buy a mobile. It was a relief to talk to him- to touch base, I suppose. 

The take away from the conversation was that he’s angry, Simon’s still not gotten back to him (hardly a surprise, but still disappointing), and we were on the same page. Simon still needed us, and, honestly, we needed Simon. Whether or not he was going to kick us out if we tried to go tell him that. 

Baz was trying to get information out of people he thought might know something. And I was... Well, I was back on the other side of Simon’s building, hoping the bloke who kept looking up at me wasn’t about to try to make conversation and distract me from my very intense eye contact with Simon’s kitchen window. 

The plan, on the ride over at least, had been to talk to him. But then I’d gotten here and the plan had devolved back to basics. Watch and wait. 

It was a safe plan- though not a good one, by any length. 

I kept thinking that this wasn’t the first time something had gone wrong. Simon and I had gotten through plenty before. This should have been nothing. 

I’d jumped through a burning gate for him, I wasn’t about to just shrug and walk away. 

But something was keeping me from rushing forward too. 

It felt like if I got this wrong, then that was it- eight years of friendship and traumatizing levels of adventure locked behind a closed door, never to return again. 

I tried not to dwell on it, until I thought about it a second too long, and pushed away from my spot on the wall. 

Nicks and Slicks, this was completely _stupid_. Truly stupid. 

I maybe hadn’t handled things perfectly, and Simon could be as angry about that as he liked. But when had I ever been the kind of person to wait for permission? I’d always been willing to just ask for forgiveness later, if something was worth it. 

So why didn’t I just _ask_? 

And if he said no, and he didn’t want me in his life anymore, then he could tell me that to my face. 

When I banged on the door, I hadn’t really been thinking about the particulars of flats and buzzers, but it was still Simon who opened the door, less than two minutes later. 

His eyes were huge, and he had bags under them. 

“We need to talk.” 

He hadn’t looked like he wanted me in his flat, or, maybe he just hadn’t wanted to have opened the door at all, but he’d led me in. Then disappeared to put the kettle on wordlessly, and didn’t seem like he was coming back. 

After about fifteen minutes, I saw him walk back over to me. He was still eying me like he thought I might be there to take him in, or shoot him. 

“It’s been three days, Simon.” 

He sat down on the chair that used to be Baz’s. 

“Well?” I half-shouted when he still didn’t say anything. 

“Well what, Penny?” He looked uncertain. 

“Well, are we done not talking?” 

He opened his mouth, but I decided that, actually, I didn’t want to hear whatever he thought his answer was just yet- “I know we lied to you. And maybe we should have told you. And we’re both _really_ sorry for that, Simon. But it was illegal and it was supposed to be temporary.” 

“Before you found something to fix me,” He added. 

“That was the plan.” I pushed past the lingering feeling of disappointment clearly in both of us. “We really did do it all for you, whatever else it felt like. Even the parts that I probably should have done differently. What’s done is done. The question is,” I leaned forward until he looked me in the eyes. “are you going to keep moping and torturing us for it?” 

“I’m not _moping_ , Penny.” Offended. 

“Mm, a bit.” 

His frown deepened, but then the tension in his shoulders gave out and he just looked tired. “I don’t know.” 

I stood up in front of the loveseat. 

“Well then _know_. Make up your mind, Simon, because we can’t go on like this. Any of us. Especially not with murderous cults and goblins waiting for you to be vulnerable.” 

“I want to...” 

“Then _do_ it,” I said. 

“I want to trust you, Penny,” He said, and I believed him. “but I know I shouldn’t. I don’t even _know_ you.” 

“Get to know me then.” 

I stared at him, and he stared back, until we were both grinning. 

“Alright.” 

It was too easy. But it was Simon, and it was _us_ , so it wasn’t, really. 

He hugged me, and it was such a relief I nearly fell backwards. “I missed you.” 

“Good. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” 

“I think I can be okay with that.” 

“One favor,” I said, and his eyebrows raised. “Talk to Baz. At least text him back, Simon, he bought a _mobile_ for you.” 

His ears turned pink. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Don’t _think_ about it,” I told him. “talk to him!” 

“Alright, I’ll _think_ about it,” He said, but he sounded like he meant it this time. 

The flat was a random flat The Coven had found, and one I hadn’t set foot in in days. But it felt familiar already. It was a relief, just being here again. 

“Penny,” He said, in a new tone. “are there goblins after me too?” 

“Oh, there has been for ages,” I shrugged. “Whoever kills you is their new king.” 

His eyebrows jumped again. “What’s wrong with a bloody election?” 

It felt relievingly normal. Not quite back where we were, but that was already the past anyway. I was happy, right now, to live in the present. 


	17. Get It Together, Simon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon deals with his feelings towards magick, his feelings towards Baz, and makes a big decision.

Having amnesia is honestly a bit shite. 

I would have said the same thing a week ago, probably, because it’s already bad enough that you’re always certain you’re missing something. But now it’s a lot worse, because I know I’m missing something but I also know exactly what it is _and_ that I can’t get it back. Complete shite. 

Penny and Baz have been on their “best behaviour”- basically just tiptoeing around it unless I ask them to answer something specific- but that doesn’t do much to help. Even if they’re not acting like they’re in a secret club right in front of me, they’re still in a secret club. And the fact that I was in that club with them before just makes me feel worse. 

Penny and Baz are still around. I didn’t really know if I wanted them to be, after everything. But they’re the only people that I know, and also, they’re the only ones who can give me answers. Penny keeps telling me that the only way to make up for a lie is to tell the truth (really that’s just her way of trying to prove she’s made up for it by telling me stories, which are nice to hear, but not exactly nice enough to balance out the lying and near kidnapping), and I guess she’s right, mostly. 

Anyway, to be completely honest- I wanted them around. I was used to them. I liked them. Both of them, I guess, or I _had_. But Penny the most, obviously. 

She was around basically constantly since we’d had our talk. It was nice. Sort of like smothering sometimes, because she was _everywhere_ and didn’t take a hint- or an actual demand- that she should leave when I need space. But mostly, it feels familiar to have her around. Whether that’s more memories coming back or if it was just from seeing her during holiday, I don’t know, but it all came to the same thing. 

The problem with the two of them wasn’t really about if I wanted to see them or not (though that got complicated too if I thought about it too hard), but if I was supposed to forgive them. 

Alright, actually, it wasn’t really a problem with Penny. 

I know I should be just as upset with Penny as I am with Baz. I mean, they both lied, together. And actually s _he_ was the one who’d come up with the whole plan to bring me all around the world without telling me why. Penny was in no way innocent- in anything, or in general. But even though I wanted to be more angry with her, it was practically impossible. 

“We don't hold grudges, Simon,” She’d said when I told her something like that. “You can’t start now, your body’s going to reject it.” 

Maybe that’s right, it wouldn’t be the first time something from my past came back to interfere with my life. I don’t really know if she’s right, but I guess it doesn’t matter. 

It was Baz who was the real problem. 

It was hard to look at him without wanting to push him out of my flat or go hide somewhere. Penny said we were the most uncomfortable people she’d ever seen. 

Maybe if I’d kissed Penny I’d be having the same issue with her too. (Thank God that was never a possibility.) 

But with Baz, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling defensive and angry the second he showed up. 

And he did show up. Sometimes. In the week we’d been back, I saw him two and a half time (once he showed up, and then left five minutes later with no excuse). With Penny there at least we didn’t just get stuck staring at each other not talking. 

And it was getting a little easier to be around him without wanting to shout, but there was still too much to deal with. He’d apologized- they both had, a lot, actually- and I got it, in general. I mean, I don’t know how I would tell someone that magick exists, and that they were taken down by a malevolent spiritual clone in a very heroic sacrifice that took that magick away (that’s the way Penny described it. I’m kind of afraid to ask for any details). 

But it wasn’t something I looked forward to- seeing him. 

Penny thought I was being a prat. 

She was standing in the middle of the room, in front of me and the loveseat, making my arm chair levitate. 

She rolled her eyes when I applauded, but I think she likes showing off. 

She told me she wasn’t going to, at first. Showing magick to a Normal- nonmagickal person- was against the law, and I was supposed to be one now. Plus, it was supposed to be dangerous. 

It only took asking a few times for her to crack. 

So far I’ve made her show me fire (just once, because it reminded me too much of the hot, explosion-like feeling I get when I panic, the one I’ve been trying not to bring up), a raincloud that wet my entire kitchen, a spell that turned me purple for a second, and one that froze my pipes for a full day. 

I love watching her do spells. I think that’s the other reason she’s willing to do them for me. It must be obvious- how much I love it. 

I wish I could just love it. 

But it’s more complicated than that, because everything in my life has to be more complicated than just love or don’t love, remember or don’t remember. (No new memories since the dream ones, by the way). 

Magick feels incredible. It makes me feel sort of warm, and it always smells like something kind of like cinnamon, in the back of my throat. It’s honestly really nice. Though it still feels sort of staticky sometimes too. 

I told Penny about that, and then I had to ask her to stop talking about it, because she obviously had a lot of theories and thoughts she wanted to share. More than I had- I’d just thought it was part of the panic, or the coma even (though I guess that whole situation is more complicated too, so maybe that wouldn’t make it better). She thinks it has something to do with how I’m reacting to magick. The last thing she said before I made her promise to stop mentioning it, was that she thought my body was trying to fight it. She takes that for a good sign- Normals aren’t supposed to feel magick at all, so I’m obviously not actually a Normal. I don’t see my body rejecting magick as a good omen. 

Anyway, there’s still a sticky feeling when Penny’s casting, and usually it’s sort of in the background, like white noise, but sometimes, for whatever reason, it’s really loud, and I can feel it. That’s when I start having problems- my heart, the heat, the way my muscles start trying to do a million things I don’t actually have full control over. (Penny has a theory here too, about a sword I still don’t entirely understand). 

Right now it’s just barely there, and it was easier to just watch Penny and pretend things were normal. 

Not normal like before the trip. Normal like, well, before I can remember. 

It’s hard to pretend. 

Mostly because I can’t picture it. Stories helped, but not enough for me to feel like I actually know what I’m talking about. 

So mostly I just sit around and watch Penny do things like make magickal fire in her hands, and feel so lucky to get to see her do it, and so angry that I can’t. 

Angry isn’t really what I mean. I mean, it is, sort of. I _am_ angry- I just don’t know what I’m angry _at_. The person who took my magick I suppose, but, according to Penny and Baz, that was me, so I don’t know. 

I guess I’m more upset. Disappointed, obviously. It doesn’t feel fair- knowing, but that not fixing anything. I do get why they didn’t want to tell me. I still don’t like it, but I get it. 

It’s weird that even though I don’t remember having any magick I can still miss it so much. I can almost swear I feel the absence of it, like there’s a piece of me that’s not there. I’m pretty sure I’m just imagining things, but sometimes I feel like if I could find it, I could just snap it back into place. Or swallow it. Or, something else that’s fitting for something like magick, and then it would be mine again. Easy. 

Except nothing’s easy. And I wouldn’t know what to do with magick even if I did have it. 

I was supposed to be a hero, before. I guess I was one (not a good one, according to Baz, but Penny says he was just being an arse, and anyway, he hasn’t said it to my face so maybe he’s changed his mind), but that was... a whole different me. 

I’m not impressive, the way they act like I was. I can’t swordfight. I can’t protect anyone- in fact, I’m the reason Penny got kidnapped. I don’t like hearing the stories sometimes, because it’s so obvious that I’m not that person anymore. And it’s so obvious that they still think that I am. I don't know how to break it to them in a way they’d accept. I don’t really want to break it to them, either. Coming out and saying that I’m a coward or a disappointment isn’t really something I’d like to do to my best friend and my.... Baz. 

“Did you talk to him?” Penny said. She says she cant read my mind, but I don’t know if I believe that, because she does stuff like this so often. 

“Baz?” I asked, unnecessarily. 

“It’s been, what? Three days, Simon?” She raised an eyebrow at me. 

I tried to ignore her. She’d gotten more and more pushy about me and Baz since it became obvious I wasn’t actively trying to get rid of them anymore. 

I think mostly she just doesn’t want the three of us to fall apart. She says that she and Baz weren’t friends before, but it’s hard to picture it _not_ the three of us, or her and Baz shooting each other looks (judgemental, mostly) from across my flat. 

“You can’t keep ignoring him, Simon,” She said, frowning at me, eyebrow still raised. She set the chair back down soundlessly. “It’s _weird_.” 

“I’m not ignoring him,” I said. “I saw him three days ago.” 

It was true. I wasn’t _ignoring_ Baz, I just wasn’t... actively trying to see Baz. 

“You can’t still be angry at him,” She said. 

“Why can’t I? It’s only been a few days, Penny.” 

“Yes, but,” She rolled her eyes. “you’re not angry at me, so you can’t be angry at him.” 

“I’m not angry at him,” I admitted, and mostly meant it. 

“Then _talk_ to him,” She said. “and more than just when I drag him over here. If you can even call that talking.” She made a face, and I was even more sure she just didn’t want things to keep feeling so painfully awkward. 

I wanted to point out that if she was dragging him over he probably didn’t want to talk to me much either, but I kept my mouth shut. 

“It’s been hard on him too, Simon,” She said, and I couldn’t argue. 

“Yeah. I know.” 

She gave me a look, but dropped it. 

Probably because she knew she’d already won. 

I texted him, before I talked myself out of it. (It was still weird- the image of Baz _texting_. He looked like the kind of person who was supposed to be writing long, goth letters by candlelight). 

He answered me almost immediately. 

“He’s going to come over tonight.” 

“Great. I’ll be sure not to be here.” 

I moped. Penny didn't care. 

~ 

Part of the reason I hadn’t wanted to see Baz was that I was upset with him. And part of it was that things were really awkward- which was enough reason, honestly, to try not to be alone together, but either Penny didn’t know about the whole situation (because I defnitely hadn’t given her any details she hadn’t already obviously figure our) or, more likely, she just really didn’t care. 

But it was actually more than just that. 

The whole hero thing. The whole _magick_ thing. It was a lot to even attempt to process. And having the two of them telling me who I was to them before, and knowing about who I am _now_ , it’s not really fun to think about. 

But especially with Baz. 

He hasn’t told me much, about us. He’s mentioned a lot of the terrorizing, and a few of our fights that he remembered in such vivid detail it was sort of alarming, but nothing.... soft. Other than that we started dating on Christmas Eve. 

Nothing about how. Nothing about why. Nothing about how we were together, when we weren’t trying to tear each other to shreds. 

But it was obviously. Well. Not what we were _now_. Every so often he relaxed enough to slip up, and act like I was the same person, and it was like he was an entirely different person too. 

And the dream... of him. Because, obviously, it was him. Just not the him I knew. (I felt like a git for not realizing it before.) 

That was all intensity and tension and _knowing_ the other was about to do something. Honestly, it was probably really exhausting, and overwhelming. That’s how it felt to think about it even. 

But if that’s the kind of relationship we had, if that’s what Baz started dating me for, then I don’t know why he’s still around. Except, I guess, pity. 

Which I don’t like to think about, but I keep thinking about it anyway. 

I can’t live up to the person he thinks I am. And I don’t know how I’d even _try_ to make our relationship more like he wants- or if I’d want that. It’s not what he signed on for, at all. I kept waiting for him to bring it up. 

When he showed up to my flat, I practically pushed him out the front door. Going out felt safer. Also, I sort of needed to do something other than sit inside my flat for another day. 

He’d looked surprised, but went along with it anyway. 

The first restaurant we got to that as open and had a table, was an Italian place I don’t think I’d ever seen- though, really, I barely ever got out. They put us at a table that looked like it was set for someone’s wedding anniversary. 

My throat felt like it was going to close. 

Baz looked gorgeous. As always. 

I sort of wanted to spill the candle on him. Just to make him look a little less... Less. 

Penny says I take up a lot of space. I think Baz takes up more. 

(Probably why us living together was such a nightmare. Well, beside the murder plots.) 

He was just looking at me. 

Neither one of us spoke until we had to order, then no one spoke again. 

I had no idea what to say. 

This was supposed to be easier, because it was neutral ground (another Penny idea) and it was public (I think I got that one off the television), but instead I felt like we were on some big date I hadn’t known about. 

And I didn’t know what to feel about that because at this point I didn’t even know if we were _dating_. 

Baz looked uncomfortable- there was a line between his eyebrows so faint it looked like a shadow. But I realized I’d been looking at him long enough to notice something like that. 

That also didn’t make things feel any clearer. 

“Thanks for coming,” I said, like I was interviewing him. 

He gave me a look then said, “Of course.” 

“I’m sorry, I....” Wasn’t sure how to finish that. 

He just shook his head. “No more sorries, please, Snow.” 

Which made me a little angry, because he was the one who was supposed to be saying sorry in the first place. 

I mean, he already had. A lot. But it still felt like he should be saying it a few more times. I was mostly apologizing to be polite. And about being uncomfortable, which isn’t really something to apologize for. 

“What’s Bunce been telling you?” He asked. 

I told him about the last few stories she’d told me, when I’d asked her to- two stories from first year and one from fifth I think she’d just told to embarrass me. Baz looked like he would blush if he could, when I told the last one. 

I kept looking at him. Like, not the way I normally did. 

I knew more about him now. Like that he was a vampire, for one, though I never saw his fangs. (He also wasn’t eating, so I didn’t get a chance to look now), that he’d tried to feed me to a chimera, that his mother died when he was little. Oh, and that I’d talked to her ghost, which took the whole afternoon for Penny to explain, mostly because she had to keep correcting me when I made “bad assumptions” about ghosts. 

I sort of thought knowing all that would make me feel, I dunno, less weird about everything. It sort of did the opposite. 

Because now I was stuck trying to figure him out. He doesn’t seem like that person, most of the time. The kind of, well, _villain_ they both say he was. I mean, he’s a bit shady, and he definitely doesn’t _not_ look like a vampire. But it’s still weird to think about. 

And then sometimes, I do see it. And I think maybe I can picture it- us. At each other’s throats. Or just, us, together. 

But it’s barely there. A foggy kind of disconnect I can’t quite get through. 

I wonder if he does the same thing with me, try to see which parts of me are like the old me, and what’s not. I think he must, its got to be hard to resist the urge. Sometimes he looks at me, and I swear he’s trying to take me apart piece by piece to figure out exactly what to keep and what to toss. 

(Penny says I’m overthinking it. She doesn’t know the half of it.) 

I managed to relax, just a little, by the end of dinner. Baz looked a little less like he was going to hurt himself sitting up so straight and uncomfortable, so I took that as a good sign. 

“Hey,” I said before we left. He looked up at me. Obviously surprised. We just looked at each other for a second. Awkward. “Do you want to come over tomorrow?” 

~ 

I didn’t tell Penny that I was seeing Baz again without her twisting my arm, and without having to ignore him days before, mostly because I didn’t want her saying anything about it. Either trying to rub in that she’d told me so, or making some giant assumption about what it meant and what the next step was. Penny made too many plans. 

But she must have known something anyway, because she didn’t try to come over the next day, and when I texted her she didn’t answer. 

It took seven texts in a row for Penny to call me, and just say “I’m busy, Simon, aren’t you?” 

I was. 

He knocked on the door before opening it, looking like he wasn’t sure I was going to let him walk in. 

My brain went back to the single other time we’d been in my flat alone. The almost kiss. The awkwardness. 

So far we didn’t have a great record. 

I tried to ignore that my face was hot. Baz was looking at me like he was nervous. 

He looked good. Like always. Better than last night, actually, even more put together than he was usually. It was a bit intimidating. 

But even as part of me tensed up when I saw him, worrying about everything and suddenly thinking I looked scruffy in my faded trousers and jumper, another part of me didn’t. It felt right, him being here. 

Having Baz around was harder than having Penny around, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t _like_ having him around. 

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like _him_. That was the truth. Whatever else it was supposed to mean. 

Obviously that wasn’t new information. Not really, after all this time looking at his lips and touching him and, I mean, _kissing_ him. But I don’t think I’d really admitted it to myself. 

It felt kind of like a defeat, that I was admitting it now. Even just in my head. 

But he was unfairly gorgeous and I liked being around him when he wasn’t making me want to kill him. If things were different... Well, a lot of things would have to be different, for that to matter. 

He sat down, in the chair he’d been sitting in since I got the flat. Looked up at me, like he was waiting. 

“Hi.” 

He raised an eyebrow at me. 

“Hello?” 

He kept looking at me. I just stood there. 

“Did you have a... plan?” 

“What?” 

His lip turned up on one side, barely even a smile. “Of course. Well, I did have a suggestion, Snow.” 

“Oh....” 

My face was hot again. Baz, thankfully, had apparently decided to ignore it. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“How about,” He said, standing back up. “you just follow me?” 

“You want me to just trust you?” I didn’t mean to say it, and flinched a little when I did. But weirdly it didn’t sound like an insult. 

An expression flickered over Baz’s face before he said, “One more time, yes.” 

I eyed the door. 

I hadn’t really expected to leave. I hadn’t left much since we came back, not since I’d found everything out, nearly been kidnapped, and had Penny told me 102 different threats to be aware of at all times. But. 

“Okay.” 

~ 

“If you eat all the scones before I get one I’m leaving you here.” 

Baz’s surprise was a picnic- which wasn’t really a surprise by the time we got there, because he had to pick things up first and then figure out where a park was. 

We’d both relaxed enough to act like actual regular people (which, for Baz, meant being snarky and generally offensive), though the second I realized that I got tensed up again. 

Baz said the picnic was because he knew I liked them. It’s weird, having people know things about you that you don't even know. I know that knowing about magick should be a bigger deal than whether or not I like to eat outside, but it’s all the same sort of _strange_. 

“You liked them in school,” He said, when I asked about it. I doubted we’d had time for a picnic date in the day we’d dated. (Not that this was a date. I didn’t think.) “So did I, actually.” 

“Yeah?” 

“They had them at the start of the year,” He told me. “on the first day everyone came back. It was ridiculously peppy.” 

“But you liked it?” 

“Yes, Snow,” He said, and smiled. “I did.” 

I said that knowing more about him- us- didn’t change things much. That wasn’t really true. 

It made things much, much worse. 

Because now it wasn’t just me and Baz, right now, and that was all I had to deal with. Now it was Baz telling me all these things about himself, so that I almost felt like I actually _knew_ him. And also knowing that I was completely behind, and couldn’t catch up. 

I’d lost too much time. Too much in general, really. 

It felt a bit hopeless, to even think about. So I pushed it away and tried to make it simple. Tried to make it more like how we’d been in Scotland- though that hadn’t been simple either, just a load simpler than _now_. I tried to pretend we were both ordinary, not just me. 

I knew it was hopeless. But I still kind of wanted pretend that it wasn’t. 

Even if I wasn’t missing years of myself- and him. Even if I wasn’t trying to catch up to something I was always going to be behind on because for some reason it had apparently been my _destiny_ to lose most of myself. I still wouldn’t have been able to trust him, and that would have made it impossible anyway. 

I wanted to, really. The way I trusted Penny. But no matter what they said about wanting to tell me, or planning to, I don’t think he was actually going to. I don’t think _either_ of them were going to, actually, but at least with Penny, I think she thought it was the best option for me. I don’t think she’d do it to hurt me. But Baz... 

I wanted to trust him. I’d apparently fallen for him twice (if no one’s lying about what happened last year), so that had to mean something. It should have, at least. But I kept thinking about Baz acting all distant and uncomfortable with me, and Baz telling me how much he missed me- old me- and it’s hard not to think that maybe he wanted to... I don’t know. Keep the two parts of me separate? I don’t know why- to keep the old me to himself? To start fresh with me and not have to deal with whatever mess we’d been in before the coma? Whatever it was, it wasn’t about protecting me. Not just about that, at least. 

It felt more selfish. 

It also felt like proof, that we didn’t know each other, not like we were. And that he had never really wanted to. 

Baz stiffened, and I let myself look where he was, out of the corner of my eye. It took me a second to realize why Baz was looking like he was considering the best way of ripping the throat out of someone. 

It was different because it was England, and he wasn’t with the rest of them, and I’d only ever really noticed him because of what he was wearing, and the hat was gone. But if I really looked, he could have been one of them. Standing on the edge of the park, like he was trying not to look like he was looking at us. 

My heart started pounding. All the worries about memory, or my feelings about Baz, were shoved into a corner, because this was _danger_. 

I didn’t know for sure it was him. I didn’t think Baz was sure either, or he would have attacked him. I was actually certain that he would have. So I stayed frozen instead. 

I didn’t know his name. I hadn’t even really paid attention to his face. The only one of them I think I could have picked out of a crowd was Cole. 

I felt a hollow feeling of guilt. And a bit sick. 

But I couldn’t keep thinking about that, because if he was here- if it actually _was_ him- that meant something bad was about happen, if we stayed there. Something bad might have happened, even if it wasn’t him, because Baz looked about ready to charge. He was back to the bodyguard he’d been when we were away. It had been weird and sort of frustrating then. Now it was a relief- I know it doesn’t really make sense to not trust someone and also feel safe around them, but I wasn’t about to spend time trying to figure it out. 

I reached out and tugged on his sleeve. 

“Can you... do something? Like-” I said quickly, before he got the wrong idea. “not fighting. Something so we can leave without being followed?” 

“ **Nothing to see here**.” I could feel the magick in it, though it didn’t feel the way it did when Penny was casting. Where her spells were warm and sort of spicy/sweet like a holiday cookie, Baz’s was hot and smoky. It made my head swim for a second, partially because it was such a strong wave of it, and partially because it felt sort of like one of my dreams or my panic attacks. It sort of felt familiar in a nice way but also in a way that made me want to take a few steps away from him.. 

The skin on my arms were tingling, so I assumed that meant it was working. Baz was frowning though. 

“What?” 

He didn’t look away from the suspicious bloke. I hope we really _were_ invisible, or he was going to notice us just from Baz glaring at him. “It feels... off.” He shook his head. “Nevermind, let’s go.” 

I didn’t argue. 

We made our way across the park, cutting across to get to the street. I nearly stepped on someone’s hand, and they looked up and glared at me. 

Oh. Wait. 

They looked up- at me. 

I shot a look at Baz, who was frowning, hard. I wondered if he’d noticed without me even pointing it out. He sped up, and I was sure he had. 

We’d practically been running by the time we got back to my flat. 

“What was _that?_ ” I said, the second we got into the building. 

“The kidnapper?” Baz asked, pulling me up the stairs. “Or the spell not working?” 

“Uh- both?” He stopped at my door and I fumbled with my keys. “Was that definitely him?” 

Baz frowned. “I can’t be sure.” 

“Me neither.” 

I looked at me, sallow and seconds from taking someone on. I shouldn’t have liked it. 

I got a wave of it, the safe feeling. The feeling that things were _right_ , even though nothing, really, was right. It was enough, at least, to keep me grounded enough not actually think. 

“What about the spell then?” I asked. 

He shook his head. “It should have worked. It-” He had a complicated expression on his face. 

“What?” 

“It. It _did_ work. I did it right, and I felt it work.” 

“I’m not blaming you for-” I started. 

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying- it _did_ work, Snow. That Normal girl you tried to stampede, she didn’t look at me at all.” 

I frowned at him. “You didn’t step on her.” 

“But she acted like I wasn’t there at all,” He said. “I was invisible.” 

I shook my head. “What are you saying, Baz?” 

“I don’t think it worked on you,” He said. He looked worried. “I think maybe. Maybe _magick_ doesn’t work on you.” 

“What? Is that even possible?” 

“I don’t know. Nothing about you has ever happened before, this is new territory.” He sat down, graceful yet looking like he was about to fall on his face if he didn’t collapse onto something. “I’ve been thinking about it- since you overheard us.” There was a weird pause between us before he pushed past the memory of that night. “You shouldn’t have been able to hear us at all. I thought maybe _something_ could have happened. I didn’t think it was anything like this- this shouldn’t be a possibility. But it makes sense.” 

I felt a bit sick. “What does that mean?” 

“I don’t know, Snow. Bunce will probably have some theories.” 

I didn’t want to ask her. I didn’t want to hear her say something like magick’s rejected me, or my body’s rejected magick. That I was going to be pushed so far out of the world I’d apparently grown up in, that I couldn’t even be part of it like _this_. 

Baz must have seen something on my face. “We can ask her later. Tomorrow, maybe.” 

“Okay.” 

My chest still felt tight. 

More tight, actually, than it had in the park. 

I let out a slow breath. I kept waiting to relax, now that I was in my own flat, safe. But instead I felt. Trapped. I’d felt better when we’d been _running_. 

Maybe part of it was stress from the whole idea of magick resistance, but that wasn’t why I felt like I couldn’t breathe. 

I was sick of being stuck here. I was sick, honestly, of being too afraid to leave because I knew I couldn’t protect myself. I couldn’t fight like they could, couldn’t use spells against all the magickal things out to get me. 

But, I realized, maybe I didn’t need to. 

“Baz.” 

He looked up at me. 

“Let’s leave.” 

He lifted a confused eyebrow. “We just got back. And there’s a possible kidnapper a few streets away.” 

“No, I mean,” I said, feeling a little too hopeful, I think, that he’d take me seriously. “let’s leave England. Again.” 

He just stared at me for a long while. “What?” 

“‘See the world’, right? That was the plan? I just cut it short.” 

“Well,” He said. “the ‘plan’ was to cure your amnesia with a mythical object. But I suppose ‘see the world’ was a strong side plan.” 

He shook his head at my expression. 

“It isn’t safe, Simon.” 

“But it isn’t safe _here_ , either.” He didn’t look convinced. “Baz, I don’t want to sit around waiting for someone to try to catch me.” 

“You’d rather run _to_ them?” 

“We don’t even know where they are right now,” I said. “And you said yourself that those American kidnappers weren’t powerful enough to be an actual threat- and now we’re ready for them. Plus,” I added. “it’s not like their magick can do anything to me.” 

“We don’t _know_ that for sure.” 

“We’ll test it then.” 

“It’s not a good idea,” He said. 

“Let’s do it anyway.” 

He didn’t say anything. 

The truth was, all the stories from my past, they just made me realize how _little_ I was doing now. I couldn’t do magick, I couldn’t wield a sword (I didn’t think), and I didn’t have some grand, prophesied nemesis. But I could have some sort of adventure at least. 

“They know where I live anyway,” I pointed out. “this might be safer even.” 

He gave me a look. Obviously didn’t think that was true. But he shook his head again, took a breath like he was working his way into doing something. 

“Alright, Snow. Fine. We’ll talk to Bunce and see what she says and then...” 

I grinned. “Holiday’s back on.” 


	18. Baz vs Defining the Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz continues going on a series of non-dates, Simon is honestly too easy to love, and a Talk™ occurs.

I’ve already made up an entire list of why going along with Snow’s half thought out plan was a terrible idea. In fact, I was already coming up with that list the second I said yes to him. 

But it was too late to get Snow to change his mind, and I wasn’t about to let him go alone- or with Bunce alone. Fierce mage or not, I didn’t like the odds of another get away if something happened to her. 

So I mostly brooded silently on it, instead of bringing it up to either of them. Except, of course, on the rare occasion I complained to Simon until he insisted I stop being ‘sour’. 

A holiday had been a bad plan when Bunce had been the one coming up with it, and it was a worse plan now. At least this time it actually _was_ a holiday. And Snow needed it. 

He’d gone through enough to wear him down- I was glad his version of being worn down was just sleeping in more and having even less manners than normal. I’d take that, as long as he didn’t sink into something worse. 

It was there, underneath everything else. 

I couldn’t be sure, exactly. Anything could have happened, if we just let it take its course. And I’ve never seen Snow take anything too hard, for too long. But we’re not at war any more. It’s harder to distract yourself when everything around you isn't threatening to come to blows. 

I didn’t like the look of it. 

So even though it was an atrociously bad plan I thought the holiday might be good for him anyway. And, he actually was resistant to magick. Merlin knows what that actually means. 

It seems ominous. Mages are supposed to be made of it- that’s what we’re told, when we’re little. You don’t _use_ magic, you _are_ magick. But Snow is... whatever he is. Someone who can’t use magick, or have it used on me, but he can feel it and sense it. He tried to describe it to me once, but all I got from the conversation was that that wasn’t _right_. Or, at least, it wasn't something that had ever happened before. Which didn’t exactly mean that it couldn’t happen for Simon. 

I had to stop thinking about the magick resistance and the holiday itself, just to make sure I wouldn’t drive myself completely mad. The best distraction was charming The Families- something that actually had managed to do me some good. 

For one thing, I finally had names. I knew who the Americans from Quebec were- their names, their birthdays. And their addresses, though I didn’t think we’d be close enough for those to do any good. 

Apparently they really had been watching them. Not well, obviously, or Canada never would have happened. But enough for them to know who they were, at least. They’d done their research, so now I could do mine. 

They were supposed to _keep_ watching them, as well. There were at least two members of The Coven meant to be keeping tabs. But somehow I doubted they’d shock us all and take the job all that seriously, though I did try to work in a few gentle nudges in that direction, with some subtle implications of bribery, and, in one case, blackmail. It wasn’t enough to make me relax, but it was something at least. Enough to make me feel like I knew what I was dealing with instead of running headfirst into danger (though I was going with Snow and Bunce, I hardly had to _act_ like them). 

Which was good, because I certainly didn’t know what I was dealing with when it came to anything else with Simon. 

The day before we’d been on a trip. Since he basically never leaves his flat- and he’d started complaining about it, even though neither of _us_ had told him to lock himself away- we’d decided to take him around England before the trip. Bunce’s idea. 

“How are you supposed to enjoy another country, Simon,” She’d said. “when you haven’t even seen your own?” 

He’d enjoyed himself. I’d enjoyed myself too, surprisingly. Most of it was tourist clap but it had its moments. And seeing Simon be able to relax and have fun without having to fight something off, or go for his sword... It felt like stolen time. 

But then, the day before, something had happened. 

Nothing damaging. But still worrying. 

A Peregrine Harpy must have been roosting in a tree. It was almost already on Simon by the time I realized what was happening. It had swooped, needle sharp beak pointed directly at his face. 

And Simon. 

Had caught it. 

We had just stood there, all of us completely stunned, until Bunce plucked it out of his hands and let it go on a gust of wind. 

I have no idea what it means that he was able to see it at all. Anyone else would have seen a normal bird- if they’d seen anything. But Snow had described it in vivid detail (of course Bunce had been pushing him for every one of them). 

I have even less idea what to think of that fact that he’d grabbed it right out of the air. Pleased, of course. If you let them, a Peregrine Harpy could put its peak directly through to your brain. But I’ve seen Snow trip on thin air, he shouldn’t have the ability- or the precision- to be able to do something like that. 

He might have, once. But it was clear that most of those skills hadn’t stuck around. 

Here was the real problem, living alongside a post-amnesia Snow. 

I know he’s different now. And after some bad experiments on Bunce’s part, and some wild theories- as well as just plain observation- it was obvious that all of this wasn’t simply something to wait through. This is who Simon is, for better or for worse. And that’s just something that needs to be. Accepted. 

For the most part, I think I have accepted it. I’m not happy about it- losing him. The parts of him, I mean, the things that only I remember, and don’t exist to him anymore. But it feels less like losing a person now. Just bits and pieces. Just memories. (And most of them not too pleasant anyway.) 

But he makes it so hard- plucking small magickal creatures out of the air like he’d trained for it. 

I’ve been trying not to look at him the way I used to, searching for any sign of the old Snow. But lately, I think we’ve switched, and he’s been looking instead. And he must be finding something. 

He’s closer now, to how he was. It’s not as if it changes anything- he doesn’t remember, still. And he can’t fight the way he used to. But it’s disorienting, watching him straddle the line between now and then, never sure where he’s going to land. 

Now he’s both at once, and I don’t know what to do with that. It’s not as if I’ve been doing _well_ with Snow as he is, though a good part of that has to do with the lying and the strangeness of the whole situation. I was never all that fantastic with Snow before, either, though somehow things had managed to go my way in the end, Magick only knows how that happened. But the point is, I’d figured out how to do it, how to see him, be around him. 

But none of the rules applied now- or, I wasn’t sure which ones still did. 

It was dizzying. Half the time, I was just holding my breath. 

Which didn’t work for moments like this, when it was just Simon and I, and I had no idea what he was going to try to do next. 

Bunce had skipped out on our trip for the day, stating something about harassing people who deserved it. I’m sure there’s a story there, but I didn’t ask. Plausible deniability, and all that. 

So I was riding The Eye with Simon, without Bunce there to make things feel a little less... Well. 

Simon was chattering away, so I didn’t have to say anything, at least. The sun was shining through his brass curls, turning them into a blinding gold. I was trying not to stare, partly from habit, and partly because it felt like something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. In general, and because of how Simon might take it. 

We were probably going to have to talk. I didn’t want to. 

I tried to relax, just for a second. On The Eye with Simon Snow looking gorgeous and deceivingly untouchable. It was more than I’d hoped for, even a year ago. It was more than I’d hoped for a week ago, really. 

He pulled me off when we slowed to a halt, grabbing my jacket in his fist. He wasn’t exactly gentle about it- still didn’t know his strength, and I wasn’t sure we’d ever fix that. 

Yesterday Bunce had abandoned us early, and Simon’d forced me to go dancing. I was good, obviously. Simon was completely awful. Yet another thing I’d never even dreamed about. Of course, if I had, it would have meant something more than just taking Simon away from his flat so he didn’t pull fistfuls of his curls out. 

It felt like it should have meant something- the way we kept catching each other’s eyes, for one thing. Being able to hold on to Simon. 

It doesn’t, of course. Not the way I want it to. But I’m an expert in one-sided pining for Simon Snow, and I knew I could manage to deal with it anyway. 

He kept pulling me, apparently heading towards a shop he’d seen and wanted to go into it at the fastest speed physically possible. 

His hair bounced while he ran. He turned his head just enough to grin at me, and my entire body felt like it’d been steamrolled. 

It’s been hard to fight the feeling. Some part of me keeps asking “why fight it at all?”, though that part of me obviously doesn’t know what’s going on. 

But it’s hard to keep myself distant, now that he’s around, and I’m looking at him every day, however I want to. And he’s smiling at me. And he’s- Crowley. He’s alive. 

It’s that “falling in love” feeling. That swooping, suffocating, _impossibly ridiculous_ feeling that keeps knocking the wind out of me halfway into these outings with Simon. 

I haven’t said anything to Snow, obviously. I don’t want to think about what he’d say, if I did. Or what he’d do. It wasn’t so long ago that I was sure he’d stab me if I even implied it. 

Snow dipped into the shop he’d been rushing towards, and released my sleeve at the doorway. I paused there, watching him. 

It was a video game shop. He’d been playing them more and more lately. It didn’t escape my notice that most of the ones he picked up had something to do with swords. Or magic. He’d said that they helped pass the time when he was in his flat, by himself. 

Whatever he was asking the cashier about, he looked excited. Radiant, actually. He’s always had a glow to him. One more “chosen one” quality that I used to hate, and then wished I hated. Now it just looked well on him. He looked healthy. 

He’d even gained a few pounds back, thank Merlin. Seeing him that scrawny had made him look perpetually fresh off of whatever hitch-hiked transportation up to Watfrod he’d gotten himself into before throwing his dirt all over our shared room every year. It also made him look unnervingly fragile. 

He looked good now. Physically, and emotionally. I did still catch him looking at me sometimes like he thought I was about to pull something dodgy, or possibly poison him, but I was used to that. He looked too vigilant in other ways as well, closer to the wariness he’d kept with him when he was The Mage’s grand weapon. I wasn’t a fan of _that_ familiarity. But it made me feel a bit less like he was vulnerably waiting for someone to ambush him. 

I let myself just look at him, for a moment. I’d already checked the small crowd in the shop for suspicious faces, and unless the spotty fourteen year old was a master of disguise, Simon seemed momentarily safe. 

I felt it again, that suffocating, warm feeling. I could lose myself to it, if I let myself. Something that would be endlessly dangerous, for more reasons than one. 

The most important of which, is the same reason that I’d been holding myself back for years before this- nothing was going to come of it. 

I was lucky enough to have him once, for a handful of days, but I had no delusions about what to expect this time around. And Snow had made it fairly clear how he felt. 

He was at the counter again, holding himself with something close to the defensive stance I’d been so used to. A blend of both versions of him. 

I didn’t need Simon to be in love with me. And I certainly never expected him to. That’s why I didn’t try to cross the subject- why I probably never would, unless I was forced to. I know things can’t go back to how they were, and I know there’s no reason for things to change from the way they already are- Simon doubting me, me standing more or less on the sidelines. 

Simon tugged on my sleeve again as he came back out of the shop. 

“I’m starving, are you?” 

I shrugged, which was, thankfully, enough of an answer for Simon to start off in the search for food. 

Only a few minutes later we were sitting across each other at a small table, mostly deserted because of our odd timing between lunch and dinner. The waitress had clearly been hoping for a break, and frowned at us more than she actually spoke. 

Simon was reading every inch of the menu. 

“So,” I said, once he looked less absorbed with the bolded fonts exclaiming different types of pastas. He looked up at me. “why Ireland?” 

His face turned a light shade of pink. I’d never seen him blush as much as he had in the last few weeks. Snow’s face tended to _flush_. I was used to seeing it turn various shades of red- I was used to turning it that way myself, in fact. But most of the time that came along with harassing Snow, or as a warning that he was about to lose control. Now his face was pink, and he just looked embarrassed. Or nervous. It was kind of endearing, the great Simon Snow looking uncertain in a way that didn’t spell certain doom for anybody at all. 

“Honestly,” He said, looking back down at the table. “I sort of thought that we were already going there before. I got Ireland and Scotland mixed up.” 

I tried not to laugh. 

He looked up at me again, making a face like he knew I was laughing at him anyway. “It’s an _easy_ mistake. They’re both green.” 

“An astute observation, Snow.” 

“ _Anyway_ ,” He ignored me. “I just thought it would be nice. And it’s my choice, isn’t it?” 

“Completely,” I told him. “Ireland is a good choice.” 

“Have you been, then?” He asked. 

I shook my head. “No, but my aunt has a few times for work. She likes it well enough. Cork, specifically, but I’m sure the rest of it is nice as well.” 

He smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

Then he leaned forward. “Baz. Are leprechauns real too?” 

“Is that why you want to go to Ireland?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow. 

“No. Well. No.” His face was turning a deeper shade of pink. “I was just wondering.” 

“Alright then.” 

“ _Baz_.” 

“You’ll find out when we get there, won’t you?” I teased. 

He made a face. Crowley, that _face_. 

“What else are you looking forward to?” I took the opportunity to break eye contact by sparing a glace at my menu. 

He started listing all the different things he knew about Ireland- more than I would have guessed, honestly, though most of it was doubtless from things like films. He didn’t even stop when the food came. He looked so excited. 

He looked so happy. 

I stuffed down all the heavy, complicated feelings I couldn’t quite get rid of. Things were never going to be easy. For me, for Simon, especially for us together. But I could pretend, for a meal at least. There was no harm, in letting myself relax enough to watch him. Pretend that he cared that it was _me_ he was with, in particular. A date. 

“Your food is getting cold,” He said. 

I looked down at our plates. We’d ‘split’ an order- meaning that Snow had ordered 4 separate meals and expected us to share. I had a half-full, and untouched, plate in front of me. Simon’s was empty. As were most of the other plates. 

“I dont really eat in public.” Normally I would have made an excuse, but I didn’t feel like doing that this time. And it’s not as if I hadn’t already told Simon, once. It was more like bringing him up to speed. 

His eyebrows knitted together. “Why not?” 

“I don’t have an eating disorder,” I told him, thinking back to the first time we’d done this. 

He frowned. “Well now it sounds like you have an eating disorder, Baz.” 

“I don’t. That’s what you-” I stopped myself. It didn’t matter. And I didn’t really feel like bringing up the past, suddenly. “It’s my fangs.” 

“So you _do_ have fangs!” 

“You sound far too excited about that, Snow.” I felt my lips quirk into a smile. “And lower your voice.” 

“What’s wrong with your fangs?” He asked, in a stage whisper. 

I held in a laugh. “You can see them. When I eat. It’s... unpleasant, generally.” 

“Can you show me?” 

“Maybe some other time.” 

“Alright, definitely.” 

The waitress, still as surly as she was before, came back with two boxes for us. 

“We’ll be in Dublin in less than a day,” I said to Simon, as we left the restaurant. “Are you ready for the morning?” 

He looked nervous again. “Not really.” 

“Not ready like ‘not ready to be on holiday with the two of us again’?” I asked. It wasn’t an absurd thought. “Or not ready like you haven’t packed?” 

He didn’t answer right away. I felt myself tense. 

He didn’t look directly at me, face a complicated frown. 

“I do need help packing. I’m a bit shite.” 

“I can help if you need a professional,” I offered. 

“Yeah, alright.” He was smiling again. Not the same way he had been- there was nothing carefree or uncomplicated about it this time. 

So I went home with Simon Snow, back to his flat that I was getting far too used to. 

I got to work emptying out his suitcase which was already crammed with what looked like a random assortment of things from his dresser. If I had to guess, he just pulled things at will with his eyes shut. 

“Any new memories?” I asked, not because I expected some miraculous answer, but because it seemed like the something I was supposed to. 

I heard Snow let out a breath. “Not really. The stories help, a bit.” 

“But it’s not the same,” I guessed. I’d seen the way he looked when we talked to him about the past. It always looked like a mix of curiosity and pain. I think some small, miniscule part of me had imagined that just jogging Simon’s memories would get him to remember. Clearly that wasn’t the case. 

“It’s hard to picture,” He said, and he sounded odd. 

I looked up, and met his eyes. He was looking at me with a strange expression on his face. He was worrying away at his bottom lip in a way that made me want to run my thumb over it. 

“It must be difficult,” I said. 

He kept looking at me, quiet for long enough that I thought he might have left the whole conversation behind, mentally. Then he said, “It’s a difficult situation. In general.” 

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he meant, exactly. It felt like dangerous territory, somehow. 

I went back to reorganizing his suitcase, sorting through the few things he had in his drawers still. I could feel Simon looking at me, though he didn’t say anything. For a long time we were both silent. 

“I get it,” He said, suddenly, after maybe twenty minutes. 

I had actually finished a while before, but was pathetically moving things around so I had an excuse to stay. I felt pinned, unable- and unwilling, honestly- to go anywhere. I straightened up and looked at him. 

“I understand why you didn't...” He ran a rough hand through his hair, pulling it back. “I’m not. Holding a grudge or anything like that.” I watched his eyes dart away from me, before settling on the drawer to the side of me. “I just thought I should tell you that.” 

I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Snow.” 

“Why do you call me that?” He asked, and I thought he might have been close to smiling. 

“Weird posh thing,” I answered, automatically. 

He shook his head. “Alright.” 

I stared back down at Simon’s luggage, my only excuse for sticking around the flat. I wasn’t sure what else I could do now- to leave, or to stay, both felt sizeably impossible. 

“I’m glad you’re... I’m glad you understand,” I said. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if it was me who knew,” He shook his head again, looking a bit dazed like he was really trying to work it out. “but I don’t think it was- like, villainous or anything.” 

I laughed. “Then that’s a first.” 

“That can’t be true..” 

It was my turn to shake my head. “Oh, you’ve never trusted me, Snow. I don’t expect you to start now.” 

True, but also not the full truth. I didn’t expect it- but I wanted it. Badly. Bad enough to be horribly dangerous. 

“I....” His eyes fell off of me again, back to the floor. He sat on the edge of his bed, frowning. “I’m glad you’re coming to Ireland, Baz. I wasn’t sure if you were going to.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“You didn’t seem to enjoy the other trips.” He shrugged. 

I watched him move over, like an invitation. I hesitated, before gingerly sitting next to him, so close to the edge I was practically hovering. 

“Waiting for murderers to ambush you will do that,” I said. “All the more reason to come with you, anyway. I don’t need to _enjoy_ it.” 

“You should, though. It is a holiday.” He frowned again, for a second. “I wish I could defend myself. For real, I mean. I know I’m basically just a target that can’t do anything but get protected by you and Penny.” 

“Don’t think like that, Snow.” 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” But he smiled. “But I’m glad you’ll be there to watch my back. I’m rubbish defending myself, but you’re... amazing at it. I barely knew what was going on that night- when we were running. But you stopped them from getting us.” 

“I barely did anything.” 

“It was incredible anyway. I couldn’t have done that.” 

He was smiling at me, for real now. 

I couldn’t stop myself looking down at his mouth, already partly open. He was so close to me, even after trying to put distance between us. The bed was too small for the gap to mean much. I could almost feel the heat of him. 

He was looking at me too. I saw him take me in, something moving behind his eyes, like a question. 

Then he sat back, so fast it was as if he’d ran into a shield charm. 

“Baz.” It took him a few tries to swallow. His face was red again, but he looked sure of himself instead of embarrassed. “I can’t...” 

The distance really wasn’t enough, we were still nearly touching. I stood up almost without meaning to. 

He ran a hand through his hair again, more aggressively this time. 

“Obviously I- I like you.” 

I almost stopped listening right there. ‘Obviously’- as if any part of this was _obvious_. I wanted to shake him for the idea of it. But I also wanted to kiss him, because he _liked me_ enough for it to be supposedly _obvious_. 

I didn’t move. 

“It’s complicated. It’s _too_ complicated, Baz. The past, and the memory loss and- and, _everything_. Every part of this is too complicated.” 

I didn’t have anything to say to that. It wasn’t as if I could argue. It _was_ all too complicated. And I hadn’t expected anything less- from Simon, or from the situation. 

“And.” He looked sad now. “I can’t trust you. I want to,” He said, like he really needed me to believe it. “but it’s...” 

“Complicated,” I finished for him. 

He was frowning again, annoyed now. At me, or at himself, I didn’t know. At the world, I thought. At magick for existing and making everything a mess. 

“I like having you around,” He said, something of a mixture between apology and promise. “I like being with you. A lot.” 

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath. 

It shouldn't have meant anything, since it didn’t change a thing. But my heart beat faster anyway. 

“And I _do_ trust you, when it comes to keeping me safe. I sort of wish you didn’t have to, but I know you’ll always do whatever you can to keep- _all_ of us safe. I trust _that_.” 

He let out a frustrated noise. “It’s just not _enough_. Not enough for... anything to happen. With us.” 

I tried not to point out that things _had_ happened ‘between us’, because it felt like he was trying to forget. Maybe that was even part of his problem with trusting me- being able to kiss him while lying. It wasn’t something I’d loved doing (in hindsight. I _had_ enjoyed doing it). 

He was looking at me like he thought I was about to lash out, or lay down an ultimatum. I wondered if that’s what I would have done, a few months ago, years ago. 

Whatever the answer, I wasn’t going to now. 

“Maybe we could just be friends?” He didn’t sound hopeful. 

Honestly, I had been expecting worse. At the very least, I thought if we’d ever had this conversation it would have ended with him asking me to stay back instead of coming along on the trip. At the worst, I imagined Simon asking me to stay away, forever. 

This was awkward, there was no doubt, but far better than I thought I’d get. 

“That’s fine, Simon.” 

He clearly wasn’t sure if he should believe me. His forehead was creased, just lightly. His ‘figuring things out’ face. 

I loved him. 

More, maybe, than I had before, even. 

It should have made things harder, maybe- coupled with the clear rejection. But instead it felt _good_. 

I still had Simon, in some way. And that was enough. 

He was sitting there, beautiful and unsure and not quite who he used to be. And I wanted whatever version of him I could get, whatever way I could get it. 

It used to be a game- the wanting, the fighting the wanting, the fighting Simon in general. It was the drama, the push and the pull, the knowledge that everything would end terribly for me. A losing game to keep me occupied, to keep my brain far from the pain of it. 

And it was a game, again, when Simon woke up- figuring out the right lies, picking Simon apart bit by bit like I could build him back up. Because nothing was real. 

Now... 

Simon’s lip twitched, the beginning of a smile. I let myself smile back. 

Now I wanted it to be. Really Simon, really me, whatever that meant for us. No more holding my breath, or holding myself back. Aleister Crowley, it felt impossible. And I wanted it. 

“I’d be more than happy to be your friend, Simon Snow.” 

His eyes crinkled when he grinned. 

I’ve always loved him- as a hero, as a force of nature. Now he was just, gloriously, _him._

This is the first time I thought I might survive it. 


	19. Simon Likes Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon meets Aunt Fiona, gets some confidence, and figures himself more or less out so he can stop having crises

“I’m never getting on a plane again.” 

Penny looked like she was going to be sick. She’d dug her fingers into my arm the whole time we’d been landing. 

She’d been talking under her breath again, like she always was when we were flying. She told me why this time, at least. Apparently she’d done reading on protection spells all about heights. 

“I don’t know if they work,” She’d said. “because I can’t exactly test them. But, Merlin, it’s better than nothing.” 

We’d gotten to Ireland in one piece at least. And it was a complete relief. 

It’s not like I expected anything to go wrong on the plane, or anything. But I’d still been worried, in the back of my mind mostly. 

The holiday seemed like a good idea. But it was hard to just go somewhere and expect it to be alright, when you’d ended your last trip with a kidnapping attempt, and when you were going there with two people who had traveled with you the exact same way and lied to you the whole time. 

So some part of me (a lot of me, I’ll be honest) sort of expected things to feel... bad. 

Walking out of the airport hit me, like I’d _done_ it. Even though all I’d done was sit through a flight and not lose my arm to Penny’s fingernails. 

But nothing had exploded. No one had jumped out at the last minute and tried to grab us. If anything was going to happen, it wasn’t going to happen right away at least. 

That was enough to let me breathe and actually enjoy it. _Being_ here. Seeing the world- again. I guess. 

“How are you getting home then, Bunce?” Baz drawled. 

Penny had a dark expression on her face. “I have my ways.” 

“How have you stayed in The Coven’s good graces this far?” 

“That’s a bit of a stretch, Basil.” 

“How have you managed not to be tied and quartered?” He corrected himself. 

It was nice. 

Maybe not the exact same kind of nice as the first time... That was probably a good thing. I thought I liked this better. 

Penny and Baz didn’t tell me everything- and I could hear it when they stopped talking about something in front of me, either because they didn’t want to tell me or because they thought I couldn’t handle it (I was starting to think it was the last one), but they talked about a lot of it too. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know whatever they weren’t saying most of the time, anyway. 

Magick was this thing I liked from far away. But so far every time it got close, it wasn’t good. The lying, the kidnapping, the fact that magickal creatures have it out for me- maybe my body wasn’t just rejecting magick, maybe magick was rejecting me too. 

Either way, it didn’t feel like getting close was safe. Like no matter what, _something_ would happen, and that would be it. 

I was fine keeping my distance. I wasn’t ready to find out what would happen if I didn’t. 

But I wasn’t thinking about that (not as much as I would have been, at least) because Penny was pulling me off somewhere she said we needed to see. 

We barely slowed down for the first two hours. Penny had said this wasn’t one of _those_ trips- nothing like what we’d been doing before. But that didn’t mean no agenda. 

Baz said I should get used to Penny having lists and about a million plans. I’m fine with it, as long as I get to rest afterwards. 

And as long as _I_ got to choose some of what we do too. 

Penny kept scowling at me, so dramatically it was obviously all for show. 

“Come on, Penny, this is _what you do_.” 

She rolled her eyes. “How would you even know that Simon?” 

“I have a mobile,” I said, shaking it a bit, from where I was holding it, in front of us. “I am on the internet.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t be.” She sounded about half-serious. 

“Just take a picture with me, Penny! Take a _selfie_.” 

She rolled her eyes again. 

I’d only just figured out how to work the camera on my mobile about two days before. I was good enough at it, though, to make sure we got at least one picture. 

And then one more, every single place Penny dragged me. 

Which might have been why she let us stop, even though I knew she had other places she wanted us to go. She claimed she’d gotten sick of the posing (and definitely tried to talk me out of the pictures) but she still looked like she was having fun. 

Now I have proof at least. Something to look back on, and remember all of this. 

Plus, it made Penny annoyed. Which I thought I deserved, since she was trying to make my legs go numb with all the walking. 

We stopped at an ice cream parlor in the middle of Dublin called Gino’s. 

I looked out of the window at the street while Penny picked out the perfect combination of toppings. 

“What do you think, Snow?” 

I looked up at Baz and smiled. 

He was holding the tiniest bowl of ice cream physically available. 

“Do you have something against ice cream?” 

He made a face I could only describe as ‘haughty’. “I’m lactose intolerant.” 

“You are not.” 

His lips quirked. “Am I?” 

I had no idea. 

Normally the fact that I knew him so much _less_ than he knew me was unsettling, and, honestly, sort of upsetting. But right now it felt like all. Potential. 

Which was maybe a weird thing to think about whether or not someone could eat ice cream, but. That’s things with Baz, I guess. 

Never quite what they should be. 

I sort of liked it. 

“It’s not as green as I thought it would be,” I said, instead. 

“Well what were you expecting, Simon?” Penny sat down next to me. “Mood lighting through the whole city?” 

“I dunno.” I felt my ears turn red. “Just. I thought it was supposed to be really green.” 

“Like Scotland,” Baz added, drily- so dry I almost missed that he was obviously poking fun at me. 

“That wasn't very green either, actually,” I muttered. 

“You don’t like it then?” Penny asked, after she’d stopped laughing. 

“I never said I didn’t like it.” 

It was really nice. Not what I'd been picturing, but definitely still cool. And it felt better, being there. Whether that was because it was far from my flat, or because I knew we were just here to relax and actually take a holiday, it already felt less stressful than our other trips. Or being home. 

Penny pulled the two of us back out into the city, and onto a bus. Apparently she’d booked tickets for some sort of tour. I don’t know when (or how), but I didn’t feel like asking. She probably wouldn’t tell me anyway, honestly. 

So far, it was mostly just sheep. I’d never seen this many sheep (or any sheep? I wasn’t sure about that). 

Baz had his head against the back of the seat he was sharing with Penny, and I could see her shoving her face into the window like she was seeing something more interesting than _sheep_. As long as she was having fun, and I was allowed to sit down, I was fine with it. The bus driver had a nice voice too. Everyone in Ireland talked like they were trying to lull you to sleep, which could have been creepy, I guess, but it wasn’t. (Or I was just jet lagged and willing to fall asleep anyway.) 

They both looked unstressed and unbothered. I think they were having fun- or, they’d both _been_ having fun, today. Baz didn’t look like he was doing, or feeling, much of anything. Thinking, I guess, but I couldn’t guess what. 

I was trying not to let that bother me. 

I know, logically, that I can’t know everything that’s going on in either of their heads. That I’m not supposed to. That it’s stupid to want, and impossible to do (even if I _did_ have magick, apparently). But every time I started feeling... better. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it 

It wasn’t like I’d spent the whole day wondering if they were secretly going to lure me off a cliff or anything. 

I wasn’t lying when I said they were my friends- and that I wanted them to be my friends, even the way things were (non-magickal, weird, still a bit intimidating). I did trust that they weren’t going to have come along just to kill me, or sell me to the highest bidder. 

And there were a few times I completely forgot I was meant to be worrying about- anything, really. I hadn’t been thinking about the past, or the secrets, or anything else, until I caught my breath and saw Baz there, staring into space. 

There was already something about Baz. I hadn’t remembered him the way I’d remembered Penny (which wasn’t much, but it was a lot better than _no_ memory of Penny), but it still struck me sometimes. His silhouette was something that always made the back of my brain feel weird. Not really de ja vu, but not something I had a better word for. 

It made me think about looking at him. Looking at him now, and having looked at him before, maybe a million times. 

And that made me think about the past all over again. And if I was thinking about it when I looked at them, I knew they must have been thinking about it when they looked at me, no matter if we tried not to bring it up or not. 

They’re good friends, honestly. That’s what makes me worry. 

I’ve never been able to shake the feeling- that they’d do practically anything, if they thought they could get the old me back. And I didn’t want to think about what exactly the line was, but I was pretty sure it didn’t stop before something dangerous happened to me. 

They wouldn’t try to hurt me- but I wasn’t sure which _me_ that was supposed to be for. 

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the thought. Both of Penny and Baz, and that lingering feeling that there was no _which_ because they were both me. 

I sort of wish they weren’t. If I could do something and bring back the old me... 

Well, I think that one is probably better off with all the threats, and dealing with basically everything else too. I get why they want him back. 

I like the flashes I get, muscle memories and the hazy dreams. But they don’t feel like I’m getting _closer_ to “him” anymore. I thought, for a second, that if I got my memories back, I’d go right back to being who I used to be. 

But I don’t think that’s the case anymore. I’ve remembered more than I had when I’d first woken up and I was still panicky and unsure of myself. I don’t think it’s a matter of going back, getting rid of what I don’t like and replacing it with magick. 

I’m sort of alright with who I am, actually. Most of the time. 

Not when I look at Penny and Baz, when they skip over something in a story because they don’t think I can handle it anymore. Or when I look at Baz and know he’s thinking about someone he thinks doesn’t exist anymore. 

But mostly. 

I looked at Baz anyway, even though it made my stomach twist. 

He looked lovely. He should have looked worse, honestly- I did- from sitting on a plane and then running all over Dubin. But he always looked effortlessly cool, I don’t know how he managed it. 

He was wearing these chic sunglasses and a shirt with the swoopy sort of pattern on it you see on the cover of magazines sometimes- paisley I think- and he looked like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, even though he was on a half full bus on its way to I didn’t even know where. 

My stomach twisted again, tightened. 

He’d been. Good. Honestly. 

I wasn’t sure how he waa going to take it. The... rejection, I guess. I don’t want to call it that, but I still thought that’s how he was going to take it. That’s what I've been calling it in my head too, because it feels more final. More like I actually know what I’m doing. 

Anyway, I’d been nervous about it for days. I had this image in my head, of him- yelling, or leaving, or just not listening. 

But he hadn’t done a thing since then. I mean, it’s not like I’d expect him to sit on my lap or try to snog me hello like I saw some couples doing in the airport, but it felt different anyway. It actually felt more... normal. 

Not because we weren't kissing, I don't think, because we’d already been not kissing for a while, and things weren’t all that great then either. But now it was like we’d both stopped holding our breath. 

And Baz was. Good. 

He seemed like he’d actually meant it, about being friends. 

I’d noticed, back before everything came out, how it felt like he was trying to be super polite with me- like I was fragile or like someone he wasn’t allowed to get close to. Now I knew Baz when he wasn’t trying to tiptoe around me. 

He was an arse. But a fun one, surprisingly. 

So things should have felt right between us- no more awkwardness for Penny to complain about, or for me to try to hide from. 

But instead all that had happened was that the awkwardness was just coming from me entirely. 

Baz didn’t seem bothered. He hadn’t done anything wrong, or even commented about me acting like a prat whenever he got too close. But I couldn’t stop myself from doing things that regular mates wouldn’t do. 

Like jumping when someone looked like they were going to brush by you. Or staring for about ten full minutes. 

That reminded me to stop staring. Not that he’d noticed (I didn’t think), but still. I was trying to be... safe. 

I hadn’t had that whole talk with him just to make eyes at him the next day. I was trying to keep things _simple_. 

It wasn’t my fault that things were _never_ simple. They were weird. And confusing. 

I think they thought most of it was just because of the suspicious stuff. They didn’t really know the half of it- it wasn’t like I was going to _tell_ them what my suspicions were, especially when I knew they were shite- but they knew enough about it to want to give me space and not press it. Which was something to be thankful of, at least. 

That meant Penny wasn’t on my case again, about me making things weird. 

I definitely _was_ making things weird, even if I didn’t want them to be. 

Because I couldn't stop myself from being completely in love with Baz. After breaking up with him (if you could call it that). 

Which was confusing, not just because of the not trusting him, and the fact that I’d _just_ told him we weren’t going to be together, but also because I still couldn’t figure out how we were together in the first place. 

Baz having feelings for me would be a completely impossible idea if I didn’t already _know_ that he did- had. 

But I don’t know how I made that happen. And since I don’t think he’d have even looked at me like that once if something hadn’t already happened, it felt like a fluke. Or like something that had gotten carried over somehow, even though it wasn’t supposed to be mine. 

I kept wondering if Baz felt the same way. Stuck with the wrong Simon. 

(Except, I reminded myself, there _was_ no wrong Simon. Whether or not Baz knew that.) 

That was something I kept almost asking him, in about a hundred different, stupid ways. 

I let my eyes shut, exhaustion finally hitting me too hard. 

I woke up to Penny shaking me by the shoulder. 

“You’re lucky the late tour was only an hour and a half,” She said, looking at me disapprovingly. 

“I’m _jet lagged_ , Penny. From the _plane_.” I whined. 

She pulled me out of the seat, and out of the bus. It let us out near a statue I vaguely recognized from when Penny had pushed us onto the bus. I was glad Penny knew where we were going, at least, because I already felt lost. 

Baz was walking along next to her, casual like he was sure where he was going too, but some of that might have been an act. It was near impossible to actually tell. 

“So you want to go to the hotel then?” Penny asked. 

The idea made me feel restless, even though we’d just spent hours exploring. The thought of sitting in a room made me feel a bit claustrophobic. 

“Want to sit?” Baz offered. There was a park up ahead, next to a big cathedral. He was gesturing to some benches near the flowers. 

“Yeah. Yeah I do.” I grinned. 

The park was basically empty- I could only see one bloke in the distance, walking a dog nearly half his size. I thought I saw Baz stiffen when he saw them. 

I wonder if being a vampire was a bit like being a cat. 

I wasn’t going to ask Baz that. 

Penny leaned down into one of the bushes, and Baz draped himself on the bench like he was getting ready for a modelling shoot. 

I couldn’t make myself sit there. Next to him. Not with his arm up and him looking so relaxed. 

It made my skin feel tight. 

I was, suddenly, completely, sick of myself. Or, at least, sick of thinking about myself. My _selves_. Anything but right now. 

I was a bit sick of talking myself out of things. 

I still didn’t sit, though. The bloke with the dog had moved on, I could see him walking out of the gate, so we had the park to ourselves for a few minutes at least. 

It felt safer than it probably was. But I didn’t want to think about how dangerous it could actually be. I didn't actually know the answer to that anyway, I still wasn’t really sure what was even possible and what wasn’t- I never got a straight answer out of Baz, or out of Penny even when I actually made myself ask (I stopped myself a lot- most of the time, actually). 

There was a long stick, big enough it must have been a branch before it had fallen off of whatever tree it had come from. I knelt down and picked it up, the weight of it feeling both right and not _quite_ right. 

Close enough. Good enough for me to stop thinking so much. 

My body remembered a lot of things, I think, it just forgot them whenever I actually thought to _try_ to remember them. 

So I shut my brain off, best I could (which was pretty good, I’d say, I’d forgotten to breathe once, which Penny swore not to let me live down) and just let myself move. 

My muscles reacted, just from the feel of the branch and the way my feet were already moving. 

I swung it over my head, slashed forward. I felt my body lean forward so far I thought I might do some kind of flip- if I hadn’t been startled enough to stop myself. 

Took a breath. Emptied my head. Looked around for a second, to make sure I could still see Penny and Baz from where I was. Then, I tried again. 

It felt good. My body doing whatever my body was doing. Things I must have learned, but I didn’t remember even knowing. 

I could pay just enough attention to the way my arms and my legs and the rest of me wanted to move to think that maybe- _maybe_ \- I could do it again, if I tried to. If I had to, to defend myself. 

Maybe, even, I’d just figure it out if someone came for me. If my muscle memory worked now, it could save me later, if it needed to. 

But I didn’t really want to rely on that, if I had to. 

I realized I was grinning. 

It wasn’t like I was good enough to do much- not against someone who actually knew what they were doing. But I felt just a little bit less defenseless. 

I felt just a bit more _me_ \- whatever that even meant at this point. Not something I was going to question, definitely. 

I turned back to look for Penny and Baz again, just to see Penny already looking at me. I looked away from her again, but I’d seen that she had been smiling, a bit. 

I dropped the stick, then realized _actually_ no, what was the point of that? Giving it up and pretending I hadn’t just been playing Soldier. So I grabbed it again, and walked back over to the two of them. 

Baz didn’t say anything about the branch I was holding. He didn’t even look like he was surprised by it. 

So I just sat down, next to him. And we were quiet. 

My muscles were tired already. Probably way more tired than they would have been, if I was still some sort of sword fighter. But it was also a familiar kind of ache. I liked it. 

By the time we got back to the hotel- still holding on to the stick like it was something more important than a branch I’d found in the park- I was just about sagging. 

Penny offered to pop down to a shop, and left the two of us sprawled on the beds. She came back with toasties, which were probably the best thing I’d eaten all week. 

I kept laying back against the bed, all warm from the toasties, and more exhausted than I’d even been before. But I managed to keep my eyes open anyway, trying to get a look at Baz and at Penny, who was leaning against the headboard of the other bed, head against the wall. She looked the way I felt. 

Baz, though. He looked odd. Off. 

He kept looking over at me, and it was making me feel like I should be on alert for _something_. 

When he finally got up- throwing me another look- it was almost a relief that something was happening. Some sick feeling in my gut made me wonder... But I tried not to think about any of the awful things that either of them could, in theory, do to me. 

By the time the bathroom door opened back up, I was half-frozen. 

Then I saw Baz, and he looked.... 

He was wearing a green blazer and a green tie, tied in some intricate knot I never could have managed. His grey trousers looked freshly ironed. They also made his eyes look all big and silvery. 

My stomach felt like a lead, in about a hundred different ways. 

I felt two things at once. 

One- the kind of deja vu that made you feel dizzy. There was something about it that almost knocked the air out of me, but also made me feel like I was floating. It was hard to describe. It was also hard to push away, so I couldn’t really think much, outside of _that_. 

The other thing I was feeling, was incredibly attracted to Baz. 

Like, more than usual, which was a bit startling. Especially since it was already hard not to stare at Baz at almost every chance I got. 

For a second it was like I just couldn’t breathe. 

Baz was staring at me, and I think he might have thought I was having an attack (I wasn’t entirely sure that I _wasn’t_ ). 

“It’s the uniform,” He said, even though I’d pretty much figured that out already. Or remembered. I wasn’t sure which. “for Watford.” 

“I- I know.” I half choked it out. 

“Why do you have that?” Penny was asking. 

He ignored her. 

“I just thought it might help,” He said, which didn’t really make any sense, but _nothing_ was making sense anyway, because all I was thinking about was Baz’s eyes and trousers. “To picture it,” He added. 

“Oh.” I tried to shake myself out of it. I took a breath, smiled. “It- it does.” 

He smiled, but he looked uncomfortable. 

“Thank you,” I said, because I meant it. 

Then I had to tear my eyes away from him. 

It was a nice thought- a really nice thought, actually. I didn’t realize how much it was bothering me, having him as some blank space. All of Watford, really, was a black space- except a few random memories involving blood, trees, and, usually, Penny. 

The fact that Baz had thought to do it was... something. 

The fact that Baz had actually _packed_ it, in advance- which only occurred to me about a full minute later- was too much to process. 

“That explains why you have it _here_ ,” Penny was saying, and I was only half listening. “but why do you have it at all? You are meant to return them Baz.” 

“Watford is surprisingly easy to steal from,” He shrugged. 

“ _Baz_!” 

“That school took enough from me,” He crossed his arms gracefully in front of the green of the jacket. The vibrant color made him look even more ash pale. Definitely vampire pale. “I think I deserve a jacket.” 

“Because you were going to die if you didn’t get a chance to show off your golf-course green outfit? How often do you whip that out, Basilton?” 

He was already taking the jacket off, which was sort of disappointing on one hand, but also impossible not to watch. 

“This is the first time, believe it or not, Bunce.” He looked at the jacket, now laid over one arm, and frowned. “It feels weird, having it on again.” 

Penny rolled her eyes. 

“Its been, what? Two months, Baz? Hardly a lifetime. You were completely used to wearing that outfit less than a season ago.” 

“Two months is long enough to get used to new things,” He told her, folding his jacket like he’d taken classes on how to do it perfectly. 

His eyes flitted over to mine for just a second, almost smiling but like he was waiting to be told he could. Penny looked over at me too, but she just nodded, all knowing. 

I was trying to picture myself in that outfit, but I couldn’t quite manage. It looked nicer than anything else I had. And about a hundred times more put together. I probably looked like a prat in it. Or, I would now. Maybe had then. I had no way of knowing. 

“It feels like longer,” Baz said. “this whole year feels like a bloody lifetime.” 

“ _Exhausting_ ,” Penny agreed. 

“But Watford.” He frowned. “It just feels like the past. A far off, mostly horribly messed up, part of my past.” 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Penny made a face. “Except the end, obviously.” 

“Speak for yourself, Bunce,” Baz said, dryly. “you weren’t the one being hunted down by your roommate every year.” 

He shot me a smile, all teeth. I thought I could actually see his fangs this time. 

Normally when Baz (or Penny, really) tried to make some inside joke about the past, it just made me feel less like I was part of it. But for some reason, right now, it didn’t feel like that, like I wasn’t actually involved. It just felt like Baz poking fun at me, drawing me in. 

I grinned back at him, trying to show it, even if I couldn’t say all the soft and generally confusing things I was thinking like- I’m sorry things are so weird, and thank you for not being a prat about any of it, and maybe being in love with you isn’t as terrible as I thought it was going to be. Less that last one. I wasn’t about to say that outloud or through some sort of smile based telepathy. 

I don’t know if he got it- it was a lot to trust to a facial expression- but things felt good anyway. Like, we all managed to relax for a few hours, forget everything happening or not happening. 

It was probably the best night’s sleep I’d gotten since I’d come home from the hospital. It was also completely dreamless. 

~ 

I woke up early the next morning, from no fault of my own. Baz was standing in between the edge of the bed Penny was in and the door out of our room, like he wasn’t sure if he should go or not. 

He had his mobile out, about an inch away from his ear. I could hear someone talking, even from all the way on the other side of the room. 

“I don’t have to send you detailed itineraries do I?” He was drawling, but he sounded on edge. 

“It would have been nice not to get all my news from your father, boyo,” The voice from the other side of the phone said, crackling through the tiny speaker. “It’s not like you don’t have a phone- apparently.” 

“Aunt Fiona,” He started, but she’d already cut him off. 

The name made my ears prick. Not in the way some things made me stop and listen or stare at, like I knew them from before (though it was hard to tell anymore which I did and which I didn’t, because everything sort of gave me that feeling lately). Just because Baz had said “aunt” and the idea of Baz having a family was still sort of odd to me. I immediately tried harder to eavesdrop. 

“I’m asking, but I’m not really _asking_ , Basil.” 

“Aren't you working?” He asked. 

“Come on, we both know what that actually means. It’s not like I can’t take time away to see you.” 

“I’m-” 

“Trying to weasel out of seeing your aunt who has previously saved your life? Yeah, I can tell, Baz.” 

He made a face. 

“I’m not.” 

“Then come on. You’re in the country all of the sudden, what excuse do you have?” 

“Things are....” 

He looked up at me, and then his eyes went all big and surprised, because I’d scrambled to the foot of the bed and was leaning over to him. 

“I want to meet her!” 

He took a step back, pulling his phone away. 

“Was that-” I could hear the voice saying. 

“Let’s go! Let’s visit!” 

He was still giving me a look, like he was watching me do something dangerous and stupid. But I didn’t really care, anyway. 

I wasn’t a good enough reason for him not to go see his family- the first family I’d even heard him mention, outside of his father who he only really mentioned to say didn’t like me, and apparently didn’t really like Baz lately (his words, and I don’t really believe him, because he always looks guilty when he says it). I remembered him mentioning her once before, and he hadn’t said anything bad about her, so that was already an improvement there. 

And I really did want to meet her. 

“Al.... Alright then, Aunt Fiona.” Our eyes were locked on each other’s, mine excited, his still guarded. “When can you-” 

“You’re in Dublin then, boyo?” 

“Yes. 

“This afternoon then.” 

I watched him swallow, put away the phone. 

Then he looked at me, face blank. 

I thought, for a second, that he might yell. Which would have been bad, because Penny was still asleep, and I was pretty sure she could implode the entire motel without opening her eyes if she thought she had to. 

Then his face sort of melted back into having an actual expression, and I let myself breathe. He looked worried, mostly. 

“Snow...” He cleared his throat. “My aunt.” 

I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. 

“What about your aunt?” 

“You don’t want to meet her.” 

“I do,” I insisted, with a frown. 

“No. You can stay here, if you want, when I visit her.” 

“I’m coming, Baz. Why wouldn't I want to meet her?” 

He stared at me, forehead creased. 

“You just... It won’t be- Aunt Fiona isn’t the kind of person you’d want to visit.” 

“Why not? Is she going to try to kill me?” 

It took him a long time to answer, like he was really thinking about it. I started thinking maybe I really _didn’t_ want to meet his aunt. 

Then he said, “No. She wouldn’t kill you.” 

I still didn’t feel exactly reassured. But I’d already taken a stand. 

“Alright. Then let's visit.” 

~ 

“Took you long enough, Basilton.” 

I didn’t know what to expect from Baz’s aunt. I guess, someone posh and maybe a bit stiff. 

Penny talks about The Coven sometimes, and they sound dry and important. I guess I sort of thought that all mages took themselves really seriously. I mean, Penny and Baz definitely take everything really seriously- about magick, at least. And their own power. 

I made the mistake of saying something like that to Penny once and she hit me. She said it was irresponsible to not take her own power seriously just to make people feel better about her being ‘humble’. I haven’t brought it up since. 

But I still had a picture in my head, for mages, and it wasn’t at all what Fiona looked like. 

She was a young-ish woman, younger than I thought (maybe I was just picture all mages as really old or my age), and she was wearing a black leather jacket with a fringe on the sleeves, and tight black jeans that were scuffed on the knees. She also had on big combat boots, that looked like they would break the bones in my foot if she decided to try. 

I guess she was small-ish, shorter than Baz and just as thin, but she didn’t really look it. She had black hair, with a streak of white through it, and dark eyes that looked like they were ready to be angry. Baz looked powerful, but graceful. She didn’t look graceful. She looked ruthless. 

I don’t really know why I liked her. But I did, immediately. 

“You said afternoon,” Baz was saying to her. “I’m on time.” 

She didn’t answer right away. She was looking at me, eyebrows up. She looked curious, more than anything else. But also not really happy. 

Still, she looked back over at Baz and stopped staring at me, without saying anything about it. 

“You know that’s not what I mean, boyo. You could _visit_ every now and then.” 

“I’m visiting now,” Baz said. He sounded different. Not like unworried or anything, really, because he was obviously on edge. But he sounded more like he wasn’t really worrying about what he was saying at least. 

And she gave him a look, that made it look like she did it all the time. They were familiar with each other. 

“I never know where you are anyway,” He told her. 

She scoffed. “I’m sure you could figure it out. You could even slip it in when you’re schmoozing and flattering The Coven about something else trite.” 

He made a face. “Maybe I didn’t want to interrupt your work. I’m a very polite and professional nephew.” 

She laughed, big and sharp. “‘Polite and professional’ my arse.” 

Her eyes moved over to me again, and I saw Baz flinch. 

“I didn’t think you’d come along,” She said, obviously to me. 

“I wanted to meet Baz’s aunt.” It sounded sort of dumb when I said it out loud, but I still said it. 

“We’ve met,” She told me, and I couldn’t tell exactly how she felt about that. Everything she said came out in one, incredibly confident, tone. 

“I don’t remember,” I said. “Sorry.” 

She looked like she was trying to decide whether or not I was lying. (I thought she probably should have already known I wasn’t lying, everyone else apparently knew. But maybe that’s what Baz said about me not wanting to visit.) 

“I like your pins.” 

Her eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” 

I took a step forward to sort of point at one of them that was almost aggressively pink, and shaped like a triangle. It just caught my eye more than the others because it was so bright. The rest were mostly black, or white. 

“That one’s really cool.” 

She looked down, towards where I was pointing, and stared at the pin for a second. Then she laughed again, even louder and longer than she had the first time. 

“You like that one, huh, kid?” 

I was pretty sure I’d said something wrong, because she kept laughing, but at least she was _just_ laughing and not trying to curse me or something, so I figured I wasn’t doing as badly as I could have been. 

“They’re _all_ cool?” I tried. 

She was still laughing. I watched her wipe a tear from her eye. Baz looked sort of horrified. 

“You’re different than I thought you’d be,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say, and I was still thinking it. 

She made a face at me, like she was trying to decide whether or not she was offended. “What does that mean, then?” 

“I mean- you’re different than I thought mages....” It sounded worse out loud. “You’re cool.” 

She considered me for a few seconds, like she was still thinking about casting something at me, then she laughed again. 

“Yeah, I am cool, Mage’s Heir.” 

“Don’t-” Baz started, but she was already saying. “Fuck, I guess that’s not true anymore is it? Merlin.” 

“I have no idea,” I told her, honestly. I’d never really got what that was supposed to mean, anyway. Penny had already brought it up maybe twice, and she always said it just meant I could come to Watford. 

I watched her pull out a cigarette. Baz was still giving her a look, like he was ready for something bad to happen- I didn’t know what, but I was pretty sure he knew what was going on better than I did. 

“Alright then,” She flicked her wrist and the cigarette lit. It was sort of like I’d seen Penny do, but she did things big, and Fiona looked more like she just sort of expected you to be watching. “wanna hear some gossip?” 

She was looking at me, so I grinned. “Yeah.” 

She took a drag on her cigarette and smirked. 

“I approve Basil.” 

Baz made a face, like he was choking. 

“I probably wouldn’t have before. But he’s fun now, isn’t he?” 

I don’t know why a stranger in a leather jacket saying I was ‘fun now’ should have made me feel proud of myself, but it weirdly did. 

“Come with me boys,” She said, with a sweeping motion, leaving behind a trail of smoke. I guess I looked a little too eager, because she grinned at me, all wolfish. “Stick with me, Snow. I’ll teach you how to be ‘cool’.” 

I didn’t want to let on just how much I wanted her to. 

~ 

Baz was still looking at me like he thought I may have gone insane. At this point it had been a few hours, so I was pretty much used to it. 

“I told you not to let Simon go,” Was all Penny kept saying. “though not for this reason.” 

We’d filled her in on the visit. Well, on the stuff that Penny might actually want to know. 

Most of it was drinking, and Baz’s aunt doing probably illegal (I'm guessing, from how shifty Baz kept acting about it) spells like magic tricks. She refilled our glasses at least three times. 

And I thought she might be put off by me being there, since she hadn’t thought I was coming, and obviously she’d wanted to spend time with Baz, so I was sort of waiting for her to ask me to leave. But she wound up being a load of fun, and even doing magick for me just to show off. She also told me some embarrassing stories about Baz that I thought Baz might break his promise and actually erase my memory for. 

But she’d also gotten some inside word about the Americans we ran into. 

“It’s all rumours obviously,” She’d said, stirring the same drink she’d been drinking for about an hour. “but you know how that is, boys. The word is that them and their cult- I don’t care if I’m not supposed to call it that- was taken down a few nights ago. Maybe a week at this point, I don’t really know.” 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Baz had demanded, immediately. 

“You’re too close to the case, boyo,” She’d said, poking at him. “They think you’d tear them limb from limb if you knew they were sitting around in custody.” She eyed him. “Is that the plan now?” 

“I don’t like that they wouldn’t tell us,” Penny was still complaining. “It isn’t like we didn’t _know_ about them, what was the point?” 

“The threat of violence,” Baz reminded her, dryly. 

She shook her head, annoyed. “If they can’t keep out two 20 year old mages then they don’t deserve to be in The Coven.” 

“Don’t sell us short, Bunce,” Baz said, leaning against his chair. “we’re both easily worth three 20 year old mages alone.” 

“And this whole- artifact idea?” She said, frowning. She was throwing her hands around while she complained, and she nearly hit the wall. “What’s the point of keeping _that_ secret?” 

That was the other rumour Fiona had heard, though she didn’t think it mattered much. 

“I wasn’t sure if I should bring it up, but what the Hell?” Were her exact words. “It’ll be over soon, probably before you even get a whiff of them. It’s not like The Coven isn’t watching. They have to be, don’t they, Baz?” She gave him another exasperated, knowing look. 

The general idea (I guess, I still wasn’t sure I knew exactly what was going on, honestly) was that there was some _other_ group out there planning on coming and getting me- though, we didn’t think it would be kidnapping this time, hopefully- and using me like some kind of mystical, living object. It sounded creepy. Though better than being taken apart, or eaten. 

“They’re supposedly harmless,” Baz said. 

“It would be nice to avoid them, though,” I said, trying not to sound like the idea of them completely freaked me out. Even though it did. 

Artifacts were apparently how you were supposed to direct your magick. I guess the idea with this new group was to be able to cast spells _through_ me. 

“Like a conduit,” Penny said in her teaching voice, when I said it outloud, before she went back into a mini-rage. 

“They won’t come anywhere near you,” Baz promised, and I sort of believed him. 

But the thing was, even though this was better than getting hunted down, and there was this chance that maybe I’d never even see them or have to deal with it, it was still _another_ group coming after me. Another threat, of so many I couldn’t even start to count. 

And then there were the people Penny was telling me about, the ones who wanted to support me- in government, I think, which is ridiculous. And they were harmless, but they were still _coming for me_. 

No matter what I did, nothing was ever going to be _normal_. Not normal like it was supposed to be. 

I guess it was the prophecy, or fate, or whatever, that made it happen- all these people seeing me as a target, or hero, or something else to try to grab on to. But even now, even though I was barely even related to any of that anymore, I couldn’t get away from it. 

They were always going to be looking for me, for some reason. 

It made me feel nauseous. 

Some combination of that feeling of “I’ll never measure up” and general dread at the idea of being watched, stalked, talked about even. 

I was thinking about it- couldn’t _not_ think about- the whole night. Through the touristy stuff I’d said I wanted to do, but couldn’t really enjoy now, through dinner where Penny was watching me like a hawk because I wasn’t eating enough. 

I walked back to the hotel with Baz, because I kept claiming “tired”. Penny had some show she wanted to catch, something I think Baz was supposed to have wanted to see too. I felt bad about that- him missing out so I could have a crisis. 

“What’s going on, Snow?” He didn’t ask right away. He let me pace, let me go through trying to freeze my face off with the bathroom sink, let me lay on top of my bed and frown at the ceiling. I was fidgeting with the torn up skin on my fingers, scrapes and cuts from who even knew where. 

“Hmm?” 

I felt the bed shift when he sat on it. Far enough away not to touch me, but, still, right there. 

“Simon.” 

It was him saying my name that got me to sit up and look at him. That was all it took to completely stop worrying over trusting or not trusting- which is, honestly, pathetic. But I wasn’t really in the mood to care. 

“I’m fine, Baz. I’m just going to go to sleep. You can go to your show, if you want.” 

He kept looking at me. Looked down at where I was pulling away at my cuticle. 

His voice was softer, but sure of himself. “Talk to me, Simon?” 

I just shrugged. Didn’t know how to voice all of it and make it make sense. Or not sound childish and stupid. 

“Is it my aunt?” 

That surprised me enough to make me talk. “What? No, she was great.” 

He was looking at me like I was mad again. “ _So_ incredibly strange, Snow. Morgana, this is the weirdest thing you’ve done all year.” 

“Liked your aunt? Why?” 

He shook his head. “You have always _hated_ my aunt. She hated you too- politics. I didn’t that think you’d- She looked like she was going to push you off a cliff, Snow, do you have any survival instincts?” 

“I just thought she seemed really cool,” I muttered. 

He shook his head again, laughing. 

“She’s confident,” I said, and Baz made a face like he thought I meant it in a ruder way (and like he agreed). “No, I mean. She’s really confident, in being who she is. It’s. Nice. And I guess it’s nice, seeing her do magick when she’s not like- like you, or Penny.” 

He gave me a look. “Meaning?” 

I shifted away from him a little, but wound up answering. “I dunno. Like you were born to be perfect mages in some magick world of- I dunno.” 

We were both quiet for a bit. I was picking at the cuts on my hand again, making one of them bleed. 

“Can you please tell me what’s bothering you?” 

“Did I used to?” Don’t know why I asked it. Actually- just don’t know why I actually said it, and didn’t just think it. 

Baz made an expression close to a grimace. “Never. To be fair, I never asked. And you were always pretty absorbed with defeating the greatest evil in the world. Or killing me.” 

“Oh.” 

“I want to know, though,” He told me. 

I still didn’t answer him, but it felt harder _not_ to, right then. When he was asking. And it was right there, anyway, right under the surface, making it hard not to spill it all. 

“I don’t- I want-” 

He waited, before saying, “What do you want, Simon?” 

“I want,” I took a breath. “to know how to defend myself. I want to never be _used_ or lied to again. I want to stop worrying about pulling you and Penny into danger just by existing. I want to be able to _talk_ to you and to Penny without wondering what you aren’t saying. I want- I want it not to hurt, hearing about any of it.” 

Baz didn’t interrupt me. 

“I want magick back.” It was the first time I’d said it. First time I’d thought it, even. 

“I’m sorry.” 

It felt good- in the sort of way that still hurts. Felt like _doing_ something, instead of holding my breath and ignoring it. 

“I’m not waiting to get it back or anything,” I said. “I’m not expecting to be able to do spells or anything. I just....” I looked up at the ceiling, because it was the easiest thing to look at. “I want magick to be a part of me. Not because it’s my destiny. On purpose. I want to hear about it- instead of trying to avoid it in all your stories. I want to see it, instead of hiding out in my flat. I want to _feel_ it.” 

And I almost felt like I _could_ feel it, right then, right above my skin. 

I didn’t realize I was touching Baz, my hand on his, until he squeezed mine, fingers laced together. 

“Okay. We can do that.” 

I looked at him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He smiled at me, and the last walls against him, and the last walls holding everything in, fell. “You _are_ magick, Simon. And you always will be.” 


	20. Penny, Prepared for Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang thinks about the future

I’m glad Ireland wasn’t a terrible decision- the whole holiday, I mean, not being some terrible decision like Baz seemed to think it was going to be. All his worrying and complaining had put made me a bit on edge. Even though I obviously said yes immediately, because, honestly, Simon made a good point. 

And so far no one had found us. So far nothing had gone wrong. 

And I was going to assume it was going to stay that way, for once at least. 

Simon kept nudging me or prodding at me when he thought I was being ‘too vigilant’ (which isn't possible), but I’ve been trying not to do it anyway, even without him reminding me. 

This is a real holiday- and we did, really, need an actual holiday. 

I’ve eased up more than I wanted to, but it feels good. And Simon seems to be relieved that I’m not waking him up at dawn anymore. 

He seems happy. Really, happy actually- more so because sometimes he _doesn’t_ look happy, and I’m actually glad to see both. It’s nice to have a Simon around that isn’t perpetually confused, out of it, or annoyed. I won’t say I _liked_ seeing Simon sad, but it’s also sort of a novelty. He never really showed it much, before. Or, when he did, he showed it in the more dramatic, _fated,_ world on his shoulders type of way. 

Or by Going Off. 

He’s never seemed _less_ like The Chosen One than he does now. Which is absolutely a good thing, no matter what anyone else might say. 

It’s amazing what not feeing like the only possible saviour for an entire group of people can do for someone. 

He's been asking about magick more, and I think maybe even remembering things more, in that “didn’t know until you know” kind of way. And he’s been better, with dealing with everything we went through in the past few weeks. He’s been open at least, and he hasn’t been looking at us like he’s waiting for one of us to pull a knife on him when he least expects it. 

He’s been a load better with Baz, too. 

_Much_ better. 

They were sitting on the bench in St. Patrick’s Park because I was doing a casual walk of the area for suspicious magick or other beings (you really can’t be _too_ vigilant). And, Merlin, it’s almost a miracle that they’re not sitting on completely opposite edges, refusing to touch, like they would have been, before. 

I kept trying to talk to Simon about his unhealthy avoidance of Baz (who, honestly, couldn't take it. You could tell he was reciting angsty poetry in his head.) but he wouldn’t let me do much. So I’m glad he’s managed to work something out himself. 

They’re back together, obviously. Even if they're not calling it that. 

They were shoulder to shoulder, Simon turned in towards Baz to say something. So close together you could easily knock them both out with one small spell blast, if you wanted to. 

“Find anything, Bunce?” 

I can never tell if he means it anymore. Sometimes Baz is just as alert as I am, and sometimes it’s like it’s some joke. 

Thought, honestly, sometimes _I’m_ not as alert as I’m supposed to be. 

It’s hard not to relax, with Simon fine and all of us finally remembering how to act like human beings. 

Being on the proverbial front lines isn’t something you shake easily. But I was starting too. Which, Snakes Alive, I really didn’t think was possible. 

“Just a groundhog, possibly reporting back to a shady organization,” I told him. 

Simon grinned. 

“Are you still going to drag us off to that- that place?” He asked. 

“No one’s _dragging_ you towards culture, Simon,” I rolled my eyes. 

“And I want to go,” Baz said. “So it’s culture or an empty hotel room.” 

Simon made a long-suffering expression, like it was supposed to mean something, when obviously he was coming along. 

~ 

We just stared at it. 

There wasn’t much else to do- expect maybe scream, but that didn’t seem like a good idea. 

Nanteos Cup- almost definitely Nanteos Cup. In the middle of this art’s centre. 

It wasn’t in any of the tips pages or the rumour threads. There were absolutely _no_ signs pointing towards a random centre in Dublin- not towards Dublin at all, actually. 

But it looked like we’d found it anyway. Completely accidentally. 

I casted a spell on it without even thinking. I couldn’t tell you which one at this point, I’d mostly done it on instinct. My brain was thinking about the fact that we _had it_ and also wondering exactly how Simon was going to take the fact that we’d found it, and also what we were supposed to do, if it worked or even if it didn’t. But I cast a spell anyway, even without making the actual choice to cast one. 

And then the cup was in my hands. 

No alarms, which was surprising, though good for us. It made me sneaking through actual security seem completely unnecessary, and even more exhausting now that I knew I didn’t have to. 

Baz pointed his wand at the single camera facing towards us. I saw him take a few steps away from us, eyes open for any others 

Simon was staring. Obviously he hadn’t entirely figured it out, but, Morgana, he was putting it together because there was only one thing it _could_ be. 

“What do you want to do?” 

My voice didn’t shake, but it was also more of a whisper than anything else. I kept trying to swallow. My whole body felt the way you feel when you miss a step and realize you’re not on solid ground anymore. 

Simon was still just looking at it. 

“That’s it?” He asked. 

“Not much to look at,” I half-joked. 

He reached out like he was going to touch it, then drew his hand away. I couldn’t read his expression beyond _complicated_. 

“Um. Alright.” 

I didn’t know what I was meant to do with that, but I didn’t think it was handing him over the cup, so I held on to it. 

“You don’t have to do anything.” And Baz was next to him again, touching his arm. “It’s up to you, Snow.” 

“Yeah, I- I know.” His throat sounded dry. “It’s. Small.” 

“It’s _ancient_ , “ I corrected him. 

Then we were quiet again. Simon furrowing his brows at it, obviously trying to figure out how he was supposed to feel. 

“If there’s a chance,” He said, finally. “to remember everything- to remember you both, for real. Then I think I want to take it.” 

He smiled at us, the kind that’s more nervous or afraid than anything, but it was hard not to smile back in the exact same way. 

He gripped the cup loosely, but sure. 

“How were you going to do this before?” He asked. “Without telling me?” He was looking at the cup like he couldn’t decide if it was funny or not. 

“‘Hey, do you want to drink out of a piece of wood’?” I suggested. 

He gave a short laugh. 

Actually, I hadn’t really thought about that part. Hadn’t thought about it, on purpose. I think I probably would have made him, if it came to that. It would have been easier than explaining. 

But I don’t want to say that to Simon. 

And I don’t really want to admit it to myself, even if I already have. 

Anyway, I’m glad that’s not how it worked out. I don’t think I could have gone through with it at this point, if Simon didn’t know, and if he wasn’t saying yes- and he _was_ saying yes. That was almost more of a relief than actually finding the cup. 

I looked up at Baz, who had an expression on his face of incredible focus. His eyes had been flitting between Simon and the cup, but now he had his wand over the top of it, staring at it like he was trying to intimidate the wood itself. 

“ ** _Singin’ in the rain_** ,” Baz sang out in a steady but melodic voice. It felt a bit much for something as small as a mouthful of water (sung spells are seriously powerful, and that one definitely could have caused a flood, if Baz had wanted it to, or just lost control), but it _did_ seem like the kind of thing a moment this big needed. 

I watched a miniature cloud form and rain precisely into the hollow of the cup. 

Simon looked at us, lips twisted. Then he sighed, raised the cup up, and smiled for real. 

And I was certain everything was going to be alright. 

We were all holding our breath, I think, for about two minutes. Long enough to expect something- if only just one of us passing out. 

Simon made a face. “Shouldn’t I feel something?” 

“Probably.” I was eyeing him, trying to pick out some sort of change. 

It wasn’t there. 

He looked apologetic. _Just_ apologetic, which is better than it could have been- since I really didn’t want to see Simon sobbing or punching something- but also made me feel a bit ashamed. If Simon _actually_ thought he was letting us down by not magicking himself back into his old shape, we’d obviously been doing something completely wrong. 

“It didn’t work,” Baz said, and his voice was cautiously blank. 

“Maybe it’s the wrong cup?” Simon suggested, still looking at us like he thought Baz or I were going to snap. 

“Or it’s the right cup and I’m just wrong,” I said. He made a face like he was going to say something to correct me, but I didn’t let him. “It’s okay, Simon. It’s _more_ than okay. It was just a chance, right?” 

“Yeah...” 

“Are _you_ alright?” I asked. 

He thought for a second. “Yeah. I am.” 

I smiled at him. “Then that’s all that matters, Simon.” 

~ 

I’ll admit, I was waiting for something worse to happen. It’s hard to know what to expect in times like these (as if times like these have even happened before- honestly). 

Simon seemed fine, back in the art’s centre, but it couldn’t just be _fine_ , like ‘let’s all get toasties’ fine. I kept an eye out, waiting for some sign that he was wrestling with it, or about to explode, or just- unhappy, at all. 

But honestly, this huge thing that, I swear to Merlin, had taken over basically my entire brain for weeks, finally happened, and on top of that it didn’t even work so now there’s that much less hope, and it feels like... normal. It feels like a regular day. 

Simon dragged us back out to the park. I don’t know why he likes it so much, but I can’t complain because I like it too. It reminds me a bit of the grounds, where we used to sit and talk strategy and suspicious activity. 

Plus, it really is nice to be able to relax. To just spend time with Simon. 

He took about a hundred photos of us, when I let him, so now his phone’s full of pictures of me making awful faces at him that I don’t think he even knows how to find again. 

But he always wanders off again, eventually. It’s hard not to follow him, especially when he goes far enough that I can’t look up and find him with my eyes. But I’ve always managed to stop myself so far. As long as he doesn’t do anything too reckless I think it’ll be fine. 

I know what he’s doing out there, anyway. 

I’m not sure why he’s trying to hide it, except that maybe he just needs some things to be his own. Or maybe he’s worried that we’ll laugh at him, if we saw him practicing. Though he really would have to be a prat to believe that we’d do that (well, that _I_ would do that. Baz isn't exactly known for being civil and supportive- though he hasn’t been able to say a rude word to Simon all week so he’s probably a safe option as well.) 

I do hope he figures it out, the sword fighting. Obviously there’s some muscle memory guiding him, I’m hoping there's enough to keep him going so he can actually do something with it. Even if he can’t, he seems happy while he’s doing it. Confident, even, which has been rare lately. 

Maybe we should look into getting him a new sword when we get back to England. I know he misses the Sword of Mages, but a sword is a sword. 

He came close enough to us for me to be able to see him again. I locked my eyes on him, just on instinct. He’d stopped swinging the branch- mostly, he’d stopped moving all together, except that he was saying something. 

I knew what he was doing even without being able to hear him. 

He was trying to cast something. Something he’d seen me do, if I had to guess, and I was holding my breath that it wasn’t something dangerous or overly complicated, before I remembered that Simon casting a spell should be making me hold my breath for completely different reasons. 

I waited on the bench, waiting for _something_ to happen, and Simon was waiting too, his face a concentrated mask in the distance. 

But nothing happened. Which is what we both should have assumed, but it still felt sort of like a twinge of something painful. Not disappointment, more regret, I guess. 

Simon just shrugged and went back to practicing with his makeshift sword. 

I was mostly just relieved. Simon not being able to cast a spell was bad, in general, but Simon _casting_ spells could be bad too. And in that moment, I was just glad that he didn’t have to worry about it anymore- being good enough to prove that he was The Chosen One, being in control enough not to explode something. 

He was definitely happier now, anyway. 

Happier than he was in England, definitely, but happier in general too. Which is a bit sad, honestly. 

We’ve been here a week now, and I think I’m getting used to it- Simon, knowing about magick but now _knowing_ magick at all. And a Simon who’s practically obsessed with Fiona Pitch, which was probably the most shocking thing to come out of all of this. 

I still don't trust her- or like her- but I haven’t said a thing to SImon. I don’t think he knows all of the details of how they were before (Baz certainly didn’t seem to want to crush him with them- though I think he would have gotten over it, if he did know. He’s a bit sick of grudges at this point.) but he knows enough not to care about it anyway. And weirdly enough, apparently Fiona likes him too, which, Crowley, happened too late, in my opinion, since it didn't stop any of the murder attmepts. But nobody seems to care what I have to say on the subject. 

At first Baz was just telling me about it to make me feel better about the whole idea of Simon spending time with his awful aunt, but eventually I got dragged along too. Also, I did need to see it myself since Baz seemed like he was getting to be too trusting of the whole thing and I thought they needed fresh, vigilant eyes. 

I’ve got my eye on her, whenever she’s around, but Baz does seem to be right- she’s obviously chuffed at the whole idea of Simon. I think maybe it’s just that she wants him hanging around like a pet, but Baz doesn't think so, or doesn’t care. I think it’s probably both, because he’s just relieved that they haven’t attacked one another. 

Simon sat down next to me, knocking me out of my thoughts. 

“One more day.” He looked like a mix of excited and already nostalgic. 

“We can always come back,” I reminded him. “They’re not going to ban you from the airport.” 

He grinned. “Alright. But after America.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Simon, I know your priorities.” 

We’d been talking more about the future. The _actual_ future, which is new. Mostly, it’s places Simon wants to go or things he wants to see. 

It seems like we’re going to manage to see the world after all. 

Or, at least, see Disneyworld, if Simon gets his way, which he probably will since he’s been working on convincing Baz. 

He rested his head against the back of the bench. He looked tired, but the kind of tired that’s also really satisfying. 

“Any last day activities planned?” He asked. 

I shook my head. “I’ve been told to ‘loosen up’.” 

“Who would ever say something like _that_?” He asked in a mock-innocent voice, grinning broader. 

“Do _you_ have any last day activities?” I asked back. “It’s your holiday, Simon.” 

He shook his head too. That weird expression came onto his face again, more sad or nostalgic this time than excited. 

“What happens after this, Penny?” 

“Rest and more travel?” I suggested. 

“But really.” 

“That’s up to you. I mean, I’ll make up a plan so you don’t get lost or sleep the whole thing away, but mostly, it’s up to you.” 

He made a face. “So you’ll be there?” 

I just looked at him. “Obviously, Simon.” 

“It’s not ‘obvious’, Pen-” 

“It is.” I laughed. 

“I know you’ve got other, important things to do.” He sounded like he’d planned it out already, what he wanted to say. But not well. He was still tripping on his words, a bit. “You’re super powerful and super smart, Penny. I don’t really get what you were doing while I was... in the hospital, but. But I don’t expect you to just stick around forever.” 

“Well, _I do_ , Simon.” I hit him. “Nicks and Slick, that’s the whole point!” 

“It is?” 

I shook my head at him. “Honestly.” 

“Then what’s the plan?” And he was smiling now. 

“Well the plan before,” I said, and I think he got what I meant by ‘before’, even though we never really said it anymore. Actually, we hardly ever needed to at this point, other than when he asked for some kind of story about the past. “was to see the world-” 

“Check.” 

“Check in progress,” I corrected him, then continued. “and to move in together.” 

He didn’t say anything for a second. 

“Well, I don’t really like my flat.” 

“Is that an official invitation then?” 

“If you’re willing to be the one who finds the new flat,” He said. 

“Well obviously, Simon.” 

It was a long, quiet while before he said, “Hey, Penny?” 

“What?” 

He shrugged like whatever he was about to say didn’t matter- which was how I knew that it absolutely did. 

“Are you really okay with it? Me...” He gestured vaguely to himself. He’s lucky I’ve known him for 8 years or no one would ever understand what he’s trying to say about ninety percent of the time. 

“Yeah.” I wanted to keep it at that. Keeping things from Simon wasn’t the natural order of things- definitely not something we’d been doing before, either one of us. But with all the lying and general with-holding, it somehow became the new normal. It became that _really quickly_ , actually, and it’s a bit scary how easy it is now, keeping things from Simon. I’m still trying to untrain myself and stop keeping my mouth shut whenever I don’t know how he’ll take something. 

He pretty much asked me not to, so I know he’s noticed. Which I guess is a good thing, that he either remembers me enough at this point to tell when I’m being weird, or just pays enough attention to observe it. 

So that’s why I added, “I’m not disappointed in you, if anything I’m disappointed in myself for picking something that was a complete dead end.” 

“It sounded good to me,” He said. 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t do any research, Simon.” I shook my head at him, but smiled. “But I’m alright. And you’re alright.” 

“A little put out, but I’m fine.” 

“If there _was_ a way,” I said, carefully. I didn’t want him thinking I was going to dive into researching anything else- that certainly wasn't the _plan_. “Would you want it?” 

He thought for a long second. “I don’t know. I might.” Then he shrugged. “I think I'll know in the moment. But I don’t want to go on like I’m just waiting for- all of it.” 

“Either way,” I told him. “you can always go to Disneyworld.” 

“I’m holding you to that.” 

~ 

Things never work out the way you want them to- or just the way that you expect them to. I’d expected Simon’s entire future to be different. I’d expected The Mage not to be a murderous arse. I’d expected Nanteos Cup to be some miraculous relic that would fix everything. 

And I definitely expected the end of this holiday to be us toasting with a, still dangerous and unlikeable, Fiona Pitch, and then leaving all of this behind- the mission, the stress (the stress that wasn’t hiding from potential murderers, at least), the whole topic of “cures”. 

But at this point, I should just assume that nothing is ever going to happen the way they do in my head. (Even though I hate that.) 

Simon’s spent a load of time with Fiona (still weird and nerve-wracking); he and Baz have met up with her almost once a day. Baz says she’s guilt tripping and possibly blackmailing him. I think he just likes that Simon likes her. 

And them spending time with Fiona- and me spending time with Fiona, when I absolutely can’t get out of it, like the last two times- means also spending time with the other handful of vampire hunters she’s here with. 

(I asked Baz if he felt like it was dangerous, walking into a group of vampire hunters, but he wasn’t fazed. I’m not sure if they’ve got something worked out or if he’s just got a big ego. Or if all the vampire hunters are just terribly inept, which is a definite possibility.) 

Simon didn’t hide how much he liked the idea of being around them, anyway. I think he just likes the idea of other mages, living their own lives. Even if this is a Simon Snow not tied down by prophecy and destiny, he still acts like he is sometimes. I think they all seem like wanton drifters- Simon apparently thinks they’re ‘cool’. 

What they are, are reckless gossips. 

It was the biggest in the group- Arthur- who told me about it. He likes to know things, I think, which I can respect, even if it threw our entire world off of its axis. 

“Merlin’s Mirror,” He repeated, eyes just as wide the second time, like he was putting on a show for a child. 

“Doesn’t exist.” 

He shook his head, dropping the act for a second. “That’s what _I_ would say if I were you. But I swear on Magick itself that I am not lying.” 

“You can still be wrong without lying.” I frowned at him. 

He put up his hands in the universal sign of ‘don’t shoot the messenger’. I got momentarily distracted wondering if that phrase would be good for a spell. (I would rather think about that than any of the bollocks an unreliable stranger was trying to sell me.) 

Then he let out a heavy breath that might have been an act and might not have been. He lifted up his hand, and waited for me to look at it. 

“What’s that meant to prove?” I raised an eyebrow at his entirely normal- though large- hand. “Are you trying to arm wrestle me for your honor?” 

“It was burned. To a _crisp_.” 

He looked a bit too smug for me to take him seriously. 

He saw the look on my face and added, face a mask of stoic certainty, “I’m being serious.” 

“Yeah, sure you are, _Arthur_.” I was still 90% sure he was lying about his name. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if at least half of the people there were running from some sentence or another. 

“Brom.” He twisted in his seat, calling out to someone else, hidden in the shadows. 

Have I mentioned that they met up in a pub? It doesn’t seem safe to me- for them or for the Normals. But nobody seems to care about basic security, so they kept shrugging me off. 

About five different Normals jumped when Arthur shouted, but the man who must have been Brom just looked up casually like he was used to it. He probably was, Arthur was incredibly loud from what I’d experienced. 

“Was my arm burnt?” He asked, when the bloke was obviously listening. 

“To a crisp, Art.” Brom nodded sagely. 

“That doesn’t-” I started, because, Snakes Alive, if I didn’t trust one dodgy stranger what difference does _two_ make, but he was already shaking his head at me the way you do at a lost cause. 

“Believe me or not, girl. But it isn’t burnt anymore, is it?” 

I stood up, completely done at that point. “That doesn’t _prove_ _anything_.” 

And then I swallowed whatever I’d normally have felt about sticking myself right next to Fiona and rejoined Simon and Baz. 

That should have been the end of it, but I kept thinking about it anyway. I could barely sleep, considering the possibility. 

And, most of all, I couldn’t decide if I should mention it to Simon. 

I mean, it was almost definitely nothing- a ridiculous rumour, or maybe Arthur the Vampire Hunter’s idea of a good laugh. But if it _wasn’t_ , then I was keeping it from Simon. 

And, honestly, even if it _was_ just nothing, Simon would probably want to know. I just didn’t want to drag him out there and get his hopes up. 

Or, he’d think _I_ wanted him to go. Which, I sort of did. But, really just out of curiosity. I’d already done the whole “run Simon around for a cure that doesn’t exist” plan, and I didn’t want to do it anymore. I didn’t want that to be the entire backbone of our friendship, now that we didn’t have the rest of it, and now that things finally felt sort of back to normal. 

But he’d been fine when Nanteos Cup didn’t work, and when none of his spells did anything. And, most of all- I already knew the answer. He’d said it, back in the centre. 

It just made me nervous, because I didn’t know what was going to happen, and there were too many possible outcomes to have a good contingency plan. But it was supposed to be up to Simon- it had to be. 

I woke up thinking about it, and the best way to tell Simon. We’d planned a later flight than I’d originally wanted, but now I was glad, so we had time if anyone decided they needed to have a mental or emotional breakdown. 

Simon woke up before I expected him to. 

He caught the look on my face, and immediately jumped on the defensive. He still tries to grab for his sword, even now that he knows what he’s doing. We really should buy him a new one. 

“Penny what’s wrong?” He half-whispered it, like he thought someone was listening in. He really hasn’t changed that much- not nearly as much as he thinks he has. 

“Nothing.” He frowned like he didn’t believe me. “There’s honestly nothing wrong, Simon. I just have to tell you something.” 

He didn’t look any less like he was preparing for an assault. 

“Alright, sit down.” 

He perched on the edge of his bed. 

Baz stepped out of the bathroom. 

“You sit down too.” 

He gave me a look, but managed to listen without asking any questions. 

“It’s ridiculous and it’s not going to work.” 

“A riveting way to introduce your plan,” Baz drawled. 

“It isn’t _my plan_.” I made a face. “I’m just trying to inform you of something that has a very slight probability of being true. Because I think Simon would want to hear it.” 

His face changed. He didn’t look less on edge, but he did look more prepared for it. That pushed me on, at least. 

“I heard a rumour about Merlin’s Mirror yesterday. And apparently it’s in the area.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Baz said, immediately. 

“I know.” 

“Wait- why is it ridiculous?” Simon asked. “Also, what is it?” 

“It’s a mythological mirror meant for scrying,” Baz said. “and it doesn’t exist.” 

“I thought people did scry,” Simon looked confused. Understandably. 

“It isn’t meant for scrying,” I told them both. “it’s meant to show things exactly as they should be. It breaks curses, and reflects the purest self. And, Baz is right, it’s absolutely made up.” 

“Well that doesn’t sound any less real than anything else you’ve told me,” Simon said. 

“People looked for it for centuries,” Baz told him, then looked up at me. “if it existed I think we would know.” 

“It’s meant to be a secret,” I repeated what Arthur had said when he was setting up his story, still not sure how much I actually believed. 

I didn’t want to believe any of it- but the idea was impossible to shake. I had the feeling I usually got before you had to make some serious, reckless move. 

“Simon.” I waited for him to look back at me. I couldn’t read him, he looked so lost in thought. “What do you want to do?” 

“If I want to go home?” He asked, slowly. 

“Then we go home,” I answered, almost before he’d gotten the words out. “and you coast on The Coven’s pity funds until you have to get a Normal job, we move in together, you, Baz, and I take holidays whenever we want, and hopefully nobody tries to kill you.” 

“And if I don’t?” He asked, smiling, just slightly. 

“Then we call Arthur and figure out where the mirror’s supposed to be,” I start. “probably try to work out whatever vague riddle he gives us for an hour, and then we try to see if we can even use it or if it would work. And if it _does_ work... we go home, you coast on the Coven’s Pity Funds until one of us gets an actual job, we move in together, you, Baz, and I take holidays whenever we can- if The Coven doesn’t try to put us on house arrest- and we assume someone’s going to try to kill you.” 

He closed his eyes. 

“I want to try it.” 

~ 

Arthur was harder to track down than we’d expected, because he was in the middle of tracking someone down himself, but Fiona had down a fairly good job finding him after a few hours. And, surprisingly, he actually gave us directions- _specific_ directions. 

They led to a house in the middle of the countryside. It didn’t look like much, but that didn’t mean anything. I still didn’t know if I believed what we were doing was going to work or not. 

An old man came to the door after we’d been knocking for a while. He had thick white eyebrows, and stubble all over his face. He looked like he hadn’t left the house in months, and looked at us like he hadn’t seen anyone in just as long. 

Then he scowled, and tried to close the door. 

I say try, because I’d already shoved my foot in the way. 

“We want to know about Merlin’s Mirror.” 

Crowley. 

It wasn’t the way I would have started the conversation, but Simon had already taken control. 

At least the old man didn’t try to crush my foot immediately. 

“Don’t know what you're talking about,” He said. And _then_ he tried to crush my foot. 

“Please,” I pushed the door more open- just an inch, really, but it was enough to see the man’s face still. I shot a quick look at Simon, and decided to throw caution to the wind. “This is Simon Snow.” 

“Who?” 

“What do you mean _who_?” I didn’t know if he was trying to get rid of us or if he actually hadn’t heard of the most famous mage alive, but either way I suddenly thought spelling the entire house apart might be the best option. 

“He was the Chosen One,” Baz stepped in before I could say or do anything else. Lucky for the old man. “He saved the World of Mages, but it injured and drained him. The Mirror could lend us help beyond what anything else could manage.” 

Baz was using the voice he used for old money, or Coven members who needed to be convinced of something. The man didn’t look like he appreciated it. The man also didn’t look like he cared about anything Baz had said- such as the fact that The Chosen One himself was asking for some simple help. 

I felt the door start moving again. 

“I just want my memories back,” Simon said, simple. 

I waited for him to say something else- explain what all this meant. I think the old man was waiting too, for the pitch. 

But he didn’t say anything else. 

It was quiet- and incredibly tense- for a few moments, before the door finally opened. 

“You have ten minutes, and then I don’t want you in my house.” 

The house smelled musty, and felt doubly as hot inside as it was out. Merlin, I didn’t want to be in there for longer than ten minutes either. 

The man led us past a cramped room, and a hallway lined with cabinets, each one covered with more dust. I was starting to wonder if he had the mirror at all- or if he’d lost it, if he’d had it in the first place, in all this rubbish. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d have found a mythological, lost mirror. 

But he walked like he knew where he was going, until he pulled down a ladder to the attic. I tensed, because attics weren’t notoriously good places to be led to by strangers, but the man stepped aside without any hint of threat. 

“I can’t go up those stairs anymore, I’m 99 years old. The mirror is in the far back, behind a gray cloth.” Then he looked at us again, hand on the ladder. “Ten minutes. And then you’ve got to get out.” 

“Ten minutes,” I repeated, and forced myself not to roll my eyes. 

The attic was worse than the downstairs. It was hotter, dustier, and so crowded I wouldn’t have been surprised if actual Dust Bunnies were using it as a warren. (They were easy to get rid of, but they were a pain in big groups, and especially in crowded spaces like these where you could barely move.) 

It was slow moving to the back of the attic, even though the room itself wasn’t all that large. And it was difficult to spot a gray cloth with all the layers of rubbish and dirt. 

Then Simon pointed, and it was there. 

It was close to the ground, smaller than I would have pictured it. It was tilted upwards, and all it would take was removing the cloth for Simon to be able to look down on it. 

Baz put a hand on the cloth, and started to pull for a second, before stopping. We all looked at each other. 

“Are you sure?” He said. 

“I’ll be okay either way,” Simon said. “Really.” 

Baz still didn’t look certain. “It wasn’t always a good life, Snow. It wasn’t the way you’re thinking of it- storybook heroics and joyful magick.” 

Baz saying it, made it easy to finally understand the knot in my stomach. 

“He’s right, Simon.” I touched his shoulder. “You’ve heard about some of it, but it’s not the same. I don’t even know if it would be better for you to feel it all again, or for it not to work and crush all your hope.” 

“I _will_ be fine either way,” He said, and I was surprised that he was smiling again. It was a bit of a nervous smile, but it was a real one too. “If it works, then I’ll deal with it. _All_ of it. I know it’ll be hard, but, honestly, I’ve gotten used to hard. And if it doesn’t work, it won’t be the end of the world.” 

“If you’re sure,” Baz said, and he was looking at him so tenderly I actually had to look away. 

“I just feel like,” He clenched his fists at his side. “something’s _missing_. Some part of me. I don’t know if it’s magick or not, but it feels like it might be. I just want to know.” 

And then the cloth was off, bunched in Baz’s hands. Simon’s eyes were locked on the mirror, and my eyes were locked on Simon. 

His body stiffened immediately, like his limbs had frozen, and I could feel heat pouring off of him, making the already hot space unbearable. I couldn’t breathe. 

Simon’s face said that whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t anything like _this_. 

He was always glowing, sort of- giving off the feeling of him being _someone_. But now he was practically on fire with it. 

In the mirror, it was Simon standing there. But the Simon in the reflection, who was also staring slack jawed out at the real Simon with a cloud of light coming off of him, also had blood red wings and a long tail. It had been so long that I’d seen them on him, but seeing them now had this startling feeling of rightness. 

The room was getting hotter by the second, and Simon’s reflection looked ready to walk out of the mirror, but the Simon in front of me hadn't changed. I knew, in some instinctive way, that if we stepped away from the mirror, all the power in him was going to go back out. 

And I knew what to do. But Simon was staring at himself like he didn’t know what he was looking at, and I couldn’t do it with him looking like maybe he’d changed his mind about the whole thing. 

I looked at his reflection again, until he met my eyes. Nodded. 

I took a deep breath. I could feel his eyes on me, and Baz’s eyes on me, and I had to take a few breaths to make sure it was going to come out more than a shaky mess. 

I spoke loudly, slowly. Certain. 

“ ** _As above so below._** ” 

The air was gone, for just a second. 

And then Simon was on the floor, dropped down so hard he must have been in the air for a second to have hit the ground like that, and he was crumpled the way he’d been months ago, when we’d thought he wasn’t going to wake up. 

For a second, I thought that was it. I thought he wasn’t coming back. 

But then he sucked in a shuddering breath. 

And he spread his wings. 


	21. Epilogue

Nothing is ever going back to normal again- whatever normal is supposed to be.

It’s all still sinking in for me, I think. It’s been two weeks, and part of me still sort of expects to wake up... back how I was. Sometimes I think I’m back before the mirror, sometimes I think I’m back before the last time I saw The Humdrum. 

But every time, I’m here. I’m me. And it’s a relief, all over again. 

Even with the wings. (They were a surprise, but, honestly, I don’t hate them. They feel sort of... right.) 

I can’t say everything’s perfect, or all worked out, but somehow I’d rather be messed up like this than I would messed up any other way. I’m actually seeing a therapist now like my doctors wanted me to back in June, and she’s been helping me work through my memories and the couple of blocks I still have. She’s also supposed to help me talk about what things have been like since we found the Mirror and Penny spelled me like this, but every time she tries to get on that topic I wind up trying to distract her. 

I’m not upset over what I’m like now, but I also don’t want to talk about it, much. Not yet. I’m still working out exactly how I feel, and exactly what is and isn’t really here to stay. 

I want to be sure of what I’m doing before I ‘discuss it’ like she wants me to. I also need to be sure before I can actually relax and stop waiting for magick to disappear on me all over again. 

It didn’t come back fully, not like I was supposed to have had it before. But I’m pretty relieved about that, to be honest (most of the time). 

Mostly, it’s just the wings and the tail, and feeling magick like before, except I can feel my own now too. I barely have enough to cast spells- though Penny thinks that that’s just because I’m out of practice. She says it’s like flexing a muscle you’ve let go. I don’t know if she’s right, but she’s making me do exercises with her anyway. 

At least she doesn’t say much when all I can do is conjure up smoke or hover something less than an inch off of where it’s sitting. 

What I _can_ do, at least, is summon my sword again. That’s worth every other bit of it, in my opinion. 

When I got the rest of my memories back, I got my training back too, but I still need to actually practice or else I can’t do much. It’s hard to find a place big enough to practice in, since the flat’s too full of things Penny’s afraid I’m going to break or knock out of order. We’ve been looking for new spots out of sight of Normals for the past few days. 

She keeps complaining about how much easier it would be if she could just spell me invisible and turn me loose in an public park. 

(I’m still resistant to magick. Nobody knows why.) 

I say it would actually be easier if The Coven just found me a place to practice- they must have a whole binder of secret places. _Penny_ has a whole binder of secret places, and it’s not even her job. 

But legally I’m a Normal. It doesn’t make any sense- to me or to Baz and Penny- but no one’s been able to convince them that it doesn’t, so that’s the way it is. Baz has apparently been collecting favors, and I think blackmail, but as far as I can tell, nothing’s come from any of his spying or whatever it is he’s doing. It’s fine, mainly. I don’t actually care if they want me around or not at this point (Penny and Baz are more angry about it than I am), it’s just them not helping me that bothers me at all. And I’m sure we’ll figure it out without their help- we’ve figured out the rest of it ourselves. 

Penny’s at the door of our flat, face so red she must have been trying to talk to The Coven when she went out. She kicks off her shoes and collapses into an overstuffed chair she picked up from the curb last week and magicked through the window even though we tried to stop her. 

“I need tea.” 

“On it.” I put the kettle on, and Penny immediately cast the fire so much bigger the kettle started whistling before I’d taken a step away. “You need to stop doing that, Pen. You’re burning all our kettles.” 

“It’s worth it,” She groaned, and forced herself up towards the kitchen. “I need it now or Baz’ll drink the whole pot before I get a chance.” 

Baz is still around. A lot (when he’s not off trying to hunt down rumors, or people he thinks are going to come after me. I don’t love that he’s doing that, but he’s promised to let me come with him next time, so at least I’ll have his back if something happens.) 

We had a talk, when we got back home- something I’m starting to realize we never actually _did_ before. 

Things between us are- different. It’s weird, seeing Baz the way I always have, and also seeing him the way I’ve been seeing him since I woke up. I’m pretty sure that the first time, nothing would have happened between us if everything hadn’t been life or death. (That doesn’t make it less... everything. But it does matter). We never actually knew each other _not_ in a life or death situation, really. 

I feel like I’ve gotten to know him a lot better, actually. 

It’s really... real, now. Scarily real. I want to run from it more than half the time (though I haven’t told anyone that, beside my therapist once, when she kept pushing). But Baz is a good bloke, and I actually think he might be just as scared as I am. 

Either way, we agreed to take things slow. Like _, really_ slow. It drives Penny nuts, but she’s going to have to live with it. I think she’s relieved, anyway, that we’re figuring things out (less awkward for her). She’s not the only one. 

I’m in love with him. So in love with him. But I’m also sort of in love with the idea of having time- time with Baz, time to have fights and arguments and still get to make up, time to figure everything out without the world or destiny riding on my shoulders. 

Penny leans against my shoulder, holding her tea with both hands. 

“You look a bit out of it. Are you alright, Simon?” 

Things have never felt more right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I can't believe this fic is **OVER**. Thank you so, so much for seeing this weird AU through, and thanks especially to you wonderful commenters and to those who've been here since the beginning.  
> It's weird finishing, but I'm so happy with this ending- and I really hope you are too.


End file.
